Everything/Anything and…Chess…"Despite the documented evidence by chess historian HJR Murray, I've always thought that chess was invented by a goddess"–George Koltanowski: from the foreword to:"Women in chess, players of the Modern Age"
My poem about this forest. My annual contribution to the Afrikaans language. I have translated it for you too.
Die voetpad na die boom
Die voetpad na die boom is nog steeds bedek – half versteek.
Gure weer en aanhoudende reen oor die jare het die toegang onomkeerbaar versper.
Daar was eens ‘n voetpad wat deur die woud na die boom gelei het.
Voorheen was die area boomryk, lowerryk.
Koeltesoekers het passievol al die bome vereer –
snoesig soos ‘n lappieskombers het hul ingekruip
onder die wydverspreide skadu-kolle.
Selfs laventel-pers heide is met deernis aangeplant
wat net deur enkeling opgemerk word.
Baie molle het op hul reis onlangs kom vlerksleep –
waarvan al die molshope getuig.
Daar was eens ‘n voetpad deur die woud.
As jy die soomlose woud binnestap,
veral laat, in die laat somer –
wanneer die skarlaken-son laag sit
en die laat-middag woud-wind om jou fluit
en die eekhorinkie speels sy den binnegaan,
dan hoor jy die dowwe getrippel van perdehoewe in die verte
terwyl die mis ‘n dun wolk-laag begin vorm al om die
karbonkelrige boomstamme en welig-groeiende gras
en bedek stadig die eens voetpad wat deur die woud gekronkel het.
~~Nikita – 26-8-2020
English translation
The footpath to the tree
The footpath to the tree is still covered – half hidden.
Severe weather and persistent rain over the years have irreversibly blocked access.
There was once a footpath that led through the forest to the tree.
Previously, the area was tree-rich, leafy.
Cooling seekers passionately honored all the trees –
cuddly as a rag blanket crept in
among the widespread shadow spots.
Even lavender-purple heather was planted with compassion
which is noticed only by the individual.
Many moles have recently come to wing on their journey –
of which all the molehills testify.
There was once a footpath through the forest.
As you walk into the seamless forest,
especially late, in late summer –
when the scarlet sun sets low
and the late-afternoon forest wind around you whistle
and the squirrel playfully enters his den,
then you hear the faint tripping of horseshoes in the distance
while the mist begins to form a thin layer of clouds all around the
carbonaceous tree trunks and lush-growing grass
and slowly cover the once footpath that wound through the forest.
Nikita – 26-8-2020
Hierdie gedig het ek geskryf as my bydrae tot Afrikaans en om 14 Augustus, Afrikaans-dag te ‘vier’. Elke jaar probeer ek om my bydrae te maak rondom hierdie datum. Ons het so bietjie in Sherwood Forest gaan rondstap om veral die baie bekende boom waar Robin Hood en sy ‘manne’ vergader het. Die Major Oak – het ongelukkig gedurende die ‘lockdown’ bietjie deurgeloop deurdat vandaliste dele van die boom probeer vernietig het. Die boom is nou afgesper en word dit al vir baie jare gestut om die boom te beskerm – soos jy in die foto kan sien.Dit was eers in die jare ’50 toe mense besef het dat die boom bewaar moet word en is enige persoon verbied om in die boom te klim en klouter – soos dit gereeld die gewoonte was. As jy die kans kry en jy is in die omgewing van Nottingham, maak gerus ‘n draai by die woud. Dan is daar ook die Robin Hood Kasteel in Nottingham wat jy kan besoek en dit is baie beslis die moeite werd – maak net seker jy besoek die grotte ook. Sien die foto.
You can go on a cave tour when visiting the Robin Hood Castle in Nottingham.
English Readers: This is a poem I’ve written after my visit to Sherwood Forest. 14th August is also Afrikaans Language Day. This is my contribution to the Afrikaans Language, the most beautiful language in the world.
This is one of my own poems. It is a cento. A cento is a poem written using other author’s lines or passages. This ‘cento’ though has been written using my own poems. The poems I used are all from my Afrikaans poems. I do write English too, but as I said before, it’s just playing with words. I don’t try to be professional. I decided a few years ago to do my ‘bit’ for Afrikaans on the 14th August every year. Unfortunately, it didn’t happen last year and I couldn’t let another year go by without having one on this day! This is the history behind the 14th August.
The Genootskap van Regte Afrikaners (Afrikaans for “Society of Real Afrikaners”) was formed on 14 August 1875 in the town of Paarl by a group of Afrikaans speakers from the current Western Cape region. From 15 January 1876 the society published a journal in Afrikaans called Die Afrikaanse Patriot (“The Afrikaans Patriot”) as well as a number of books, including grammars, dictionaries, religious material and histories. Die Afrikaanse Patriot was succeeded in 1905 by today’s Paarl newspaper. You can read more about this Society on this link on the site of Wikipedia.
If you are Afrikaans, I hope you enjoy these couple of lines.
My siel op haelwit wolke
In gietende reën sypel my gedagtes: eindloos! Ek stuur vir jou die goud van sondeurdrenkte landskappe in die galery van my stille gemoed. My opgevoude gedagtes steek vas en onderhou my geheue wat onvermydelik verstrengel is en soos gister vind jy my siel op haelwit wolke; my gedagtes wentel om die aura van my taal en rol ragfyn ligstraaltjies voor my uit: wat die tuimelende bergstilte laat rol oor die dansende blou waters na die holtes van my gedagtes.
==Nikita 14/08/2015
Mantovani is one of my real big favourites. On this video you’ll find a whole library of his music to keep you company. I hope you enjoy!
If you are a regular reader of my blog, you would know that I do play chess myself too. I’ve blogged quite a few chess games in the past. This is one of my most recent chess games on chess.com Time is little to play rated chess games and I was tricked into this game, but managed to escape the worst. Rated games involve more concentration and I tend to play friendlies just for fun and I feel I can ‘escape’ or shut down from normal work and enjoy the game.
I like how I managed to checkmate my opponent, though he was very close to checkmate me! I played white in this game – not my favourite colour, as I discovered I play better games when I play black. If you are interested, please click here to play through the game. If you are a chess player yourself, please feel free to leave a comment and Dan, if you read here, you might want to analyse my game…hehe.
Jan 2015 –Indien jy beplan om my eie gedigte te ‘leen’ vir jou Facebook bladsy of jou privaat blog of website, kan jy asseblief so vriendelik wees om my daaroor in te lig. Ek vind dat van my gedigte op internet bladsye verskyn met sekere politieke oorwegings waarmee ek nie saamstem nie en ek is nie geniee daarmee dat my gedigte op bladsye soos daardie verskyn nie! Ek sal dit waardeer indien jy my versoek sal respekteer.
Tomorrow, 14th August, is an important day in the history of Afrikaans. On the 14th August 1875, an organisation was founded to promote Afrikaans as a language. The language Afrikaans has its roots in seventeenth century Dutch but it has been influenced by many languages including: English, Malay, German, Portuguese, French and some African languages. Some of the first written work in Afrikaans was done using the Arabic alphabet in the work Bayaan-ud-djyn written by Abu Bakr. Apart from this development and minor writings in so-called Cape Dutch Afrikaans acted mainly as a spoken language for people living in the Cape and Dutch was used as the formal and written language. Afrikaans is a language spoken by many people of different races and ethnic groups throughout Southern Africa. I have decided to contribute something every year on this day [ or as near as possible to this date] to the celebration of Afrikaans as a beautiful language spoken by beautiful people. This first poem is my contribution and the second a poem from one of our famous poets. Both poems’ titles are Die Beste which means The Best. Then you can read my 2008-contribution: Afrikaans and the last poem is my 2009-contribution. The Afrikaans song’s title is Sypaadjie Mense [you can read the translation on the given link at the 3rd poem where you can listen to the song and follow the words in English.] –Sidewalk People. Afrikaans readers: the poem at the bottom is my contribution of last year. When I was at Primary School, we always had to learn poems and from Die Beste I had to know the first two stanzas by heart when I was 11 years of age. I must say I don’t regret it!
You can see photos of the Afrikaans Language Monument – the only language monument in the world! – and an explanation/meaning of the monument.
Die Beste
Afrikaans:
Ek is aan jou verknog
Jy is vir my ‘n sieraad
Jou wingerdstokke groei welig
in my opgeploegde land
Jy is besprinkeld met
onbeskaamde liefde en
jy bring voort troetelkinders
Jou sprekers strek
van die Ooste na die Weste
en jy bly verreweg
Die Beste!
-21:30 Nikita
The Best Afrikaans I’m attached and devoted to you! To me you are a wreath Your grapevines flourish In my ploughed land You’ve been irrigated with Impudent love You bear cuddly-children Your speakers stretch From the East to the West And by far: You’re the BEST -(c) Translated: 16/2/2012 Nikita – 20:00
[Translated for friends to understand the Afrikaans poem!]
Image: farms-for-sale.co.za
Die Beste
Geil lusern in die laagste landjie;
Geil groen blare en blomme blou;
Aalwyn rooi op die voorste randjie,
Rooi soos bloed teen die rotse grou;
Somer en son en saffier daarbowe;
Ruik van die keurbos rondgesprei;
Kort klein skadu’s oor die klowe;
Somer en son en saffier vir my!
Wonder van kleure uitgesprei –
Wat is daar meer deur die dood te rowe?
Somer en son en saffier vir my!
Hoog oor die water skommel die vinkies,
Vol van die vreug van die somerdag;
Bly die gekwetter van bruin tinktinkies;
Blyer die son wat goudgeel lag.
Algar wat lewe, algar tevrede,
Hoog op die heuwel en laag op die vlei;
So was dit gister, en so is dit hede –
Somer en son en saffier vir my!
Heer, wat die hemel oor my sprei,
Dit is my eerste en laaste bede:
“Somer en son en saffier vir my!”
Het jy ’n vrind wat jou hand kan vashou?
Vrinde vergaan en faal in nood!
Het jy ’n vyand, jou grootste las nou?
Vyande, vrinde gaan algar dood!
Wat’s dit vir my as die gras vergrys word?
Somer sal kom met sy groen daarby;
Wat as in winter die water ys word?
Somer en son en saffier sal bly.
Boetie, ek vra jou, wat sê jy?
Wat’s dit vir ons as die gras vergrys word?
Somer en son en saffier sal bly.
Roem van mense, rykdomme, pragte –
Alles vergaan soos die mis op die vlei:
Sterre wat skiet in pikdonker nagte,
Het langer lewe as roem kan kry.
Boetie, as ons nou ’n keus moet wae,
Hier op die wêreld, wat vra jy?
Roemryke lewe en lengte van dae?
Somer en son en saffier vir my!
Boetie, as jy nou jou keus kan kry,
Wat is die wens wat jou hart sal wae? –
Somer en son en saffier vir my!
C. Louis Leipoldt (1880-1947)
Het jy die boodskap bo-aan die bladsy gelees?
Afrikaans Die taal wat ek liefhet
Afrikaans
Die taal wat ek praat
Afrikaans
Die taal waarin ek dink
Afrikaans
Die taal waarin ek droom
Afrikaans
Die taal van my hart
Afrikaans
Die taal wat ek koester
Vir nou en altyd
Afrikaans
Jy is myne
Afrikaans
Jy is nou
Afrikaans
Jy is besonders
Afrikaans
Jy is uniek
Afrikaans
Jy is getrou
Afrikaans:
My denke
My wese
My lewe!
Nikita –
Suid-Afrika: my land
Jy’s indrukwekkend, manjifiek
jou sondeurdrenkte landskappe
weerkaats helder beelde in my siel
jou pragtige wonders flikker oneindig
lank in die stilte van jou nagrus
Mount Aux Sources – so elegant en grasieus
verrys jy vanuit die voetheuwels, soos
‘n fakkel by die Spele ets jy lekkende
beelde teen die muur van my geheue
en voel ek jou hitte gloeiend teen my hart
O Blyde! ek fantaseer oor jou
magiese kragte wat jy sorgloos
en galant in die galery van my
stille gemoed stilletjies uitpak terwyl
my dawerende applous eggo
oor die velde van my gedagtes
Moederstad! hoe inskiklik laat jy my
telkens hakkel wanneer ek my herinneringe
sagkens koester – jou fasades!
waar ek jou gambiet betree
en gewillig my pionne oorgee
En saans voel ek jou fluweelagtige
skoonheid van elke sonsondergang
stadig neerdaal in my gemoed terwyl
ek stadig drink van jou geloofs-fonteine
wat borrellend bruis in oorvloed
The Afrikaans Language Monument (Afrikaans: Afrikaanse Taalmonument) is located on a hill overlooking Paarl. Its outline is visible from a considerable distance.
This is the only language monument in the world and was completed in 1975. The design represents the growth and developement of Afrikaans and recognises its roots which is spread over three continents – Africa, Asia and Europe. The three colums on the left that are close together (A) represents the influences of the three Western languages on Afrikaans – Dutch, French and English. The wall on the steps (B) represents the Malayan language and culture. Architect Jan van Wijk was inspired by words of prominent Afrikaans authors N.P. van Wyk Louw and C.J. Langenhoven. The “roof” (C) refers to Van Wyk Louw’s words: “Afrikaans is the language that connects Western Europe and Africa… It forms a bridge between the large, shining West and the magical Africa…”
The main column (D) which is 57 m high, represents the growth, evolution and achievement of Afrikaans and was inspired by a quote from Langenhoven: “If we plant a row of poles down this hall now, ten poles, to represent the last ten years, and on each pole we make a mark at a height from the floor corresponding to the relative written use of Afrikaans in the respective year, and we draw a line, from the first here near the floor to the last over there against the loft, then the line would describe a rapidly rising arc…”
The last column (E) symbolises the Republic of South Africa which was the birthplace of Afrikaans. On the photo below, the three round shapes symbolises the contribution of the African languages – Xhosa, Zulu and Sotho. http://www.what-to-do-in-cape-town.com/afrikaans-language-monument.html
This song is a mix of Afrikaans and Netherlands. Stef Bos [from Holland] and Amanda Strydom [South Africa] sing the song: Die Taal van my hart– The language of my heart
One of the women who received the Government’s sanction to join a commando was Mrs. Otto Krantz, the wife of a professional hunter. Mrs. Krantz accompanied her husband to Natal at the commencement of hostilities, and remained in the field during almost the entire campaign in that colony. In the battle of Elandslaagte, where some of the hardest hand-to-hand fighting of the war occurred, this Amazon was by the side of her husband in the thick of the engagement, but escaped unscathed. Later she took part in the battles along the Tugela, and when affairs in the Free State appeared to be threatening she was one of the first to go to the scene of action in that part of the country.
Read on this link more about the women and the boer war.
A people are what its women are. The woman is the conscience of her nation as well as the measure of its values. The moral life of a nation is controlled by the women and by the women can we measure the moral condition of the people. – Postma
I have a very famous poem of a very famous South African poet to celebrate Women’s Day in South Africa. “Die Vrou” – in English “The Woman”. She translated some of her works in English/German/Italian/French and Hebrew and won many prizes in South Africa and in the Netherlands. She was born in 1915 and died in 2007 in Amsterdam. Sarah Raal [picture] was one of those strong women during the South African/British War [Boer War] and she fought alongside the Boer Soldiers. You can read this book written by her:
Die vrou
Somer en herfs en winter trek in wye
onafgebroke wisseling deur die land,
maar sy bly draer van die lente want
liefde het haar verhef bo die getye.
Haat en verwoesting plant hul lamfervlae
in honderd stede en oral sink die nag;
vir háár op wie ook bloed en worsteling wag
klink nog die lied van vrede en welbehae.
Die uitgeteerde ruiter neig sy sens
en aarselend voor die klaarheid van haar blik
erken selfs hy sy heerskappy se grens:
in haar wat die onsterflikheid bewaak
ontkiem die toekoms in die flou getik
van lewe wat voorwêreldlik ontwaak.
Elisabeth Eybers
Tomorrow, 9th August, South Africa celebrate’s Women’s Day. I’ve decided to create a special entry on Women. I have for you photos from family – both sides – dated back just before the 1800’s.
I agree with the above quote from Postma. Women are the anchor of a nation and if women are not taking the lead when it comes to morals and values, well, then its tjaila-time [like we say in South Africa] for a nation. We as women need to conduct ourselves in a way that our children can look upon us, be proud and so be proud adults too. I’ve come across a very interesting piece of writing and copied part of the article here. The complete article can be read on the given link at the bottom of this entry.
Mrs General Botha
Mrs General Meyer
British colonization and its positive, beneficial effects dominated nineteenth-century South African historiography written in English. Dutch settlement, as well as the Great Trek and the founding of the Boer republics, was regarded as peripheral to the saga of British settlement and government at the Cape. Works by Noble (1877) and Wilmot and Chase (1869) remained the standard source material on South African history until G. M. Theal began to publish research based more closely on archival material, during the latter part of the century. The writings of Noble and of Wilmot and Chase portrayed Boers settlers outside the Cape Colony as ignorant, illiterate and cruel, as ‘living on the margin of civilisation’, their ‘moral condition … scarcely higher than the Hottentots or slaves who were household companions’.
During the last quarter of the century, especially after the mineral discoveries and the Boer victories during the Transvaal War of Independence (1880-1), such criticism began to be countered by an apologist approach to the Boers in both English and Dutch historical writings (the latter emanating from the Netherlands as well as the Boer republics). Historians such as Klok, Van der Loo, and Du Plessis took great pains to paint a positive picture of Boer society, drawing close parallels between the Boers and their exemplary European heritage.
In the new historiography Boer women received greater attention. They were described as extremely courageous and, owing to their sufferings in the past, were considered by some writers to be ‘the greatest patriots’. ‘Taking all the sufferings a mothers and daughters during the early days into account, it is indeed no wonder that it is amongst the female sex, especially amongst the older generation, that the greatest patriots are found’. These authors painted a detailed picture of the simple and unassuming Boer lifestyle, which was presented as an overt sign of a classless and egalitarian society. At the same time, their ordered and structured society was emphasised, by way of countering the negative images mentioned above. Van der Loo, in his work De Geschiedenis der Zuid-Afrikaansche Republiek aan het Volk, lavished praise on Boer women. Despite their contact with ‘wild barbarians’ and their isolation from civilisation, they remained true to their traditions of ‘virtue, moral sensibility’ political independence and free institutions’. An added dimension was their purported racial superiority and purity. Symbol of her racial purity, the white complexion of the Boer woman – despite exposure to the African wilderness – was highlighted by Lion Cachet, who maintained ‘a Transvaal woman is, for Africa white’ . This feature was likewise stress Klok in his description of Boer women. He also paid attention to their lips, implicitly contrasting them with Negroid features: ‘thin lips, a round chin and a white neck…. Seldom does one see ugly, that is, really ugly women’.
In the projects of these men there is a clear convergence between the development of the ideal of the volksmoeder and the rise of Afrikaner nationalism. In 1918 Postma (then retired because of ill-health) was requested by two Afrikaner organizations, the Nasionale Helpmekaar4 and the Kultuurvereniging of Reddersburg, to write a book entitled Die Boervrouw, Moeder van Haar Volk (The Boer Woman, the Mother of her Nation). The timing of this publication was important. It followed on the unveiling of the Vrouemonument, the Rebellion of 1914 and the termination of the First World War. The war was a significant event in the history of Afrikaner nationalism, for it was during this time that secondary industry, in particular labour intensive industries utilising mainly cheap female labour, began to flourish in South Africa. At the same time, a population explosion in the Afrikaner community, coinciding with the impoverishment of the rural areas, resulted in a massive influx of young, mostly unskilled Afrikaner men and women to this labour market in the urban areas. The presence of these unsupervised and unattached young men and women in the cities gave rise to grave concern for their moral safety in state, church and welfare organisations. In this social context, the characteristics of the Boervrouw as enumerated by Postma gained particular relevance for reformers, cultural entrepreneurs and concerned Afrikaners in general. His book was both an articulation of the already established image of the volksmoeder and a glorification of Afrikaner women, aimed at the instruction of Afrikaner youth and young girls in particular. In his writing the volksmoeder ideal was propagated as a role model for a new generation of women. This involved the emulation of characteristics such as a sense of religion, bravery, a love of freedom, the spirit of sacrifice, self-reliance, housewifeliness (huismoederlikheid), nurturance of talents, integrity, virtue and the setting of an exam others. Of particular significance is that Postma extended the prevailing notion of ideal womanhood to include their nurturing of the volk as well. For the first time the Boer woman’s role as mother and central focus of her family was expanded to include the concept of Boer women as mothers of the nation: The motherhood of the Boer woman extends itself to her volk just as it does to her child’ (Postma, 1918 164; translated). To substantiate his argument he cited the demonstration of Afrikaner women at the Union Buildings in 1915, when a delegation marched to Pretoria to protest against the capture imprisonment of General Christiaan de Wet as a rebel. The idea of demonstration had originated with women suitably connected prominent men and thus well qualified to be regarded as mothers of the nation’ – Mrs. Joubert, wife of the famous Boer general, and Elsie Eloff, the daughter of the late President Kruger. Yet the way in which Postman saw the demonstration taking form portrays a revealing disregard for the women’s initiative: ‘In true womanly fashion the call was complied with, without delay, not taking account of expense or trouble. Love called, love obeyed’ . The limitations of Postma’s perception of the women’s action are evident in these words: women did not argue, they did not stop to consider the consequences and they did not calculate the cost or the trouble of their actions. They were motivated irrationally, solely by love. But having disregarded any political significance in the women’s action, Postma weeded to link the moral strength of the Afrikaner people to that its women: ‘A people are what its women are. The woman is the conscience of her nation as well as the measure of its values. The moral life of a nation is controlled by the women, and by the women can we measure the moral condition of the people’ .
…. In it many of the characteristics already outlined by Postma emerge: Afrikaner women had a purifying and ennobling influence on their menfolk; they would sacrifice much for their families and were loyal housewives and tender nurses, earnest in prayer, sage in advice, with sat love of freedom and steadfastly anti-British. Stockenstrom maintained adamantly that Voortrekker women were ire of their calling as volksmoeders: ‘The women profoundly realised that they were the mothers of the future Afrikaner nation, and were fully conscious of the fact that their children and grand-children could never develop into a virtuous and glorious nation unless they were absolutely independent and free’.
Click HERE to read the complete article on the site of SA History Org za.
Photo: A Teacher and her class – 1913,this image is from the same site as the website where you can read about Elizabeth Russel Cameron [next picture]. She was a remarkable lady and her history is a must read! You can read how she obtained the right to vote in a time in South Africa when women were not allowed to vote, but that was not the reason for what she’s done.
Herfs het my wêreld stadig binnegesluip
omhul in ‘n sluier van rooi en goud
Ek snak na my asem by die aanskoue
van die transformasie – die wonderlike natuur!
Soete doudruppels gly van ‘n grashalmpie
met die verbygaan van raserige eende
Ek dwaal na die warmte van verlore gedagtes
versteek waar stof en tyd dit nie kan vind
Die laatmiddag son op my vel, jou lippe
wanneer weerstand verkrummel
deur jou vingerpunte –
Ek weet, nie lank,
dan sal Winter se koue winde begin waai
maar Herfs se warmte sal my by-bly
Met gedagtes aan jou op die koel Herfs-oggend
koester ek die warm gedagtes aan jou verewig
—Nikita—Aug 2008
Herfs is met ons en dis heerlik om al die wonderlike kleure te aanskou, asook die transformasie wat daarmee gepaardgaan. Ek het verlede jaar my herfs-gedagtes op my “gedigte/poems”-bladsy geplaas en het weer vanmore al die kleure geniet. Dit plaas my weer in ‘n bui net om gedigte te lees en mooi musiek te luister.
Autumn has arrived! This is just my autumn-poem in Afrikaans and I enjoy the transformations during Autumn. Enjoy the music of Strauss: Village Swallows. I think all the swallows are by now back in South Africa! I can remember a swallow-family under our roof where I grew up on the farm. It was always good to see them returning home and sweet to hear them chirping.
Die wind in die baai het gaan lê en rondom
het dit oor Houtbaai, oor Kampsbaai
en by Seepunt wit koppe bly waai.
Maar, in die baai het die wind gaan lê:
alles wil toegesluit lyk – byna veilig -;
en ‘n seun het in ‘n blikskuitjie uit,
sakdoek vir seil
– sonder fletter -, plankies vir roeiers,
dit uit-gewaag
– want die wind oor die baai het gaan lê.
En ons bid na die berg, die wind, die planeet toe
om alles wat wind-berg-planeet se aard is
af te lê, en ‘n oomblik (‘n oomblik!)
net te broei, broei oor die vrees vir die vrees
en die ongewete roei van die seun
in hierdie kort stilte binne die baai.
NP van Wyk-Louw
Wind from the sea – by Andrew Wyeth – an American Artist
I’m in a mood for art and poetry. I have two Afrikaans poems and art from an American artist. “Wind” is my topic in the above poem and art. Next I have the opening lines from a poem by William Blake, one of my favourite poets.
To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour. –William Blake: Auguries of Innocence
Rosa Rosarum
Kom na my tuin waar die donkerrooi rose
Duist’re geheime vertrou aan die nag;
Sonnestraal-kusse en suidewind-kose.
Drome en liefde die lang somerdag.
Kom in die soel someraande en luister
-Wanneer die nagwind hul drome verklaar-
Na die veelvuldige blommegefluister,
Bloesem en bloeisel en blad altegaar!
Kom waar die lelie – die blanke, die reine –
Skugter haar bloesem ontbloot aan die maan,
Blou miosotis – die slanke, die kleine –
Met haar vergeet-my-nie-ogies betraan.
Kom as die maanblom – wit sy en satyne –
As ‘n vorstinne verskyn in haar prag
Onder die wierook van roos en jasmyne –
Skoonste juweel op die bors van die nag!
Daar in die vywer, bestraal deur Arjana,
Open die lotus haar heilige kelk,
Dan eers bereik sy die hoogste – Nirvana –
As sy in glorie van songloed verwelk.
Bok-bokmakieries sing bly twee gesange
Wanneer die oggend ontwaak in my tuin;
Saans koer die tortel sy lied van verlange
Bo-uit die troost’lose treurwilg se kruin.
Kom in die aand en geniet van haar geure;
Foelie, jasmyn, angelier, minjonet;
Kom in die môre en kies van haar kleure:
Rooi, wit en goud, groen en blou, violet!
Kom as die skitter van dou-diamante,
Rosa Rosarum, in my Paradys,
Dat ek my blomme, my bome, my plante,
Roos van my hart, hulle weerga kan wys! –A.G. Visser (ca. 1878 – 1929)
bokmakierie: groengele vogel met opmerkelijke kreet
minjonet: welriekende tuinplant, reseda
This song’s title is…Kentucky Blues by Lauren Copley – a South African artist
Cd-cover of one of the 2 cd’s The songs to follow are all by the choir of Prinshof School – School for the blind and visually impaired students in Pretoria. The first two are Afrikaans songs and the last is where a girl– at the time of the recording of the music she was about 12– played her penny whistle. She was very musical/talented and played 12 instruments! Do treat yourself to her. The first two songs, of the next 3, are ‘wind’ related songs.
Ons eerste liefde was
‘n wit galop van hingste
kniediep deur die gras:
ontdekkings, avonture
in die grot te, ‘n geil slaap
in holtes langs rooi vure.
Nou starend van die koue krans
voed een bron ons vergesigte –
‘n hoër vreugde, dieper angs.
This poem is an Afrikaans poem by one of our National Poets. As you can see from the title, it’s about Mount Aux Sources! Thank you Kop for the poem!
Mount Aux Sources is the highest peak of the Drakensberg Mountain range in South Africa. Note: the highest peak of this mountain range is actually Thaba Ntlenyana (thaba means “mountain” in Sotho) and this peak is in Lesotho, an enclaved country in South Africa.
Image: the dailykitten.com…beautiful kitty!
On the 22nd April 2009, all Saffas are going to vote..again. Saffas outside South Africa can vote on the 15th April. Please read HEREon the site of South Africa House, London, for more details.
Please click HERE for the Elections website and to check if you are registered to vote! You need to send in your VEC10-formby Friday 27th March to be able to vote! The form is available on this link too! Links will open in a new window.
Wow! I like this chess position! I’ve just resigned the other game as I haven’t had any chance to win it…I lost my Queen a few moves ago! but this game is an exciting one….just look at that fork! Usually I like to castle in my games, but for some reason, I didn’t castle in the two games against this player. He’s rating is a bit more than mine, but a few months ago, his rating was about 500 higher than mine. I guess you figured out that I played white in this game…
And…here’s the final position, my opponent has resigned. Click on the link to play through the game. The link will open in a new window. Nikita1 vs. P79
I was tagged by Skoor to post an entry about my favourite music. Well, I’ve done so many entries about music before, especially classical music that I’ve decided to blog a few tracks from my other favourites. I think all the music files in this entry refer to love which is quite important in our lives! Many of my chess-player-friends on Chessworld know that I have a passion for my country/language and therefore the first song is an Afrikaans song. Steve sings it and he’s one of my favourite singers. In this entry you can also listen to a few love songs which I blogged with a couple of love-poems and you can listen to Steve singing in English! As a poetry-lover, I have also a poem for you to enjoy; music, poetry and love…hmm…you can’t separate it…and I have a movie for you, about SA of course, with some beautiful music…this time, classical music!
This first Afrikaans song is a love song and the title says in English ..”Far away from here”…and that’s what I am…far from South Africa…my beloved country!
Steve Hofmeyr – Ver hier vandaan
I was introduced to this song by one of my friends when I was a student and I still like this song.
Dan Fogelberg – Leader of the band
I was asked by a blogreader to translate the following poem – which is originally an Afrikaans poem – into English. It’s a poem that will “touch” you. On the link you can read the Afrikaans poem, actually, I don’t think Afrikaans speaking readers will read it as we all know this poem very well! I had to know it by heart when I was at primary. It’s part of our history and I even believe that many other culture groups in South Africa also know the poem. This is a poem written by one of our National Poets, A G Visser and it’s based on the truth. I have a link for you in this post where you can read the history behind the poem.
Amakeia
A G VISSER- poem translated
In the shadow of the mountains
bush-sheltered on all sides
stands alone the wattle-and-daub hut
on the boarder of Kaffircountry.
Softly Amakeia hums
on the banks of the River Kei
till he sleeps, the tender baby
of the white pioneer:
“Hush now, hush now, hush Little One
see how the evening star twinkles
No one will hurt you, Little One
hush now, even if Mummy isn’t near.”
Amakeia had promised
when her madam was dying
to look after her vulnerable baby
till he’s a grown-up boy.
Lovingly she cares
for the white child
till the light of day beams
from Amakeia’s friendly-loyal black face.
She sees the ominous
signs of war:
Quick the invasion, home and haven
Slaughtered and burnt down
Selflessly, death defying
with the white child on her back
to the Amakeia mountains
she’d hastily fled
“Hush now, hush now, Pikanini
over the mountains the moon rises
No one will see us here
Tomorrow we’ll go home.”
Oh, that the eyes of the scouts
had to discover their hiding place!
“Save him, he’s so little!” she begs
with hands stretched out.
Ragingly snarled the wild gang:
“Die or give the white child here!”
“Over my lifeless body,”
replied Amakeia vivaciously.
“My promise to my madam,
the best I could asked for:
Where he goes, Amakeia goes,
to care for him.”
“Unite in death
If in life you can’t be parted.
Quick death with her, Maxosas,
Let the glinting spears rain down!”
In the Amatola valleys
Howls only the winter wind
through the reeds in the moonlight: “Tula-tula – sleep my child.”
Translated:
(c) Nikita 9:30 14/2/2009
Please click here to read about the history behind the poem. The link will open in a new window.
A few years ago, when I taught 11 year old kiddies in SA, I used this next song in a listening skills exercise. About 2 years ago, when I walked the streets of London, this song came to my mind – of course also the lesson I taught! – and I thought by myself…what Roger sings is so true. I’ve never thought that I would one day walk the streets of London and experience what he sings in this song! Image: geographyofgrace.com Roger Whittaker – Streets of London Image: flickr.com: 2350/2261847707_ce11506ce7
I do like Katie’s music…she’s a lovely artist….do enjoy this song!
Katie Melua – The closest thing to crazy
Image: designbydani.com
Dennis East is a South African artist. Enjoy his song…I think this is a ’80’s song. Listen closely to the words! and Queen will always be on my music menu! The last song…For a kiss…is a cute song! Listen and enjoy!
Dennis East – A Rose has to die Image: farm3.static.flickr.com/2117/2268046339_6ec9b65f42
This entry is like scrambled eggs! ..some English..some Afrikaans… some reading…some listening…some chess, some poetry, make your pick and choose what you want to do…and I hope you find something good here….I’m going to explain in short what the magazine is about. This is a South African family magazine, since the 1900’s and I’ve blogged about it before, but want to blog more and focus more on poetry that was published in these issues and about the fashion of the time and whatever you’ll find here…it’s really a mix! The three issues are in this post as PDF files if you want to download it and my other entry is only in English, if you want to click on the link to read the English-entry posted in 2007.
You will find a poem by Goethe.. The Fisherman…translated in Afrikaans in 1915/6 – by someone. The poet’s name was unfortunately not published, only initials, at least it said that the poem was translated from the German-poem. The poems in this entry are written in Afrikaans, but Afrikaans was still busy developing and you will spot the similarities to the Dutch Language in the words/phrases. By looking at these images you can get a pretty good idea of what the fashion of the time was like, the captions with the images will also guide you and you’ve thought that my blog is a chess blog only…hehe..actually, my blog says…anything/everything and chess! But as always, I will try and link something in my entry to chess, if possible! So…here it goes…some extracts of sites – links which you can follow too – that tells us that chess was a game that was enjoyed by South Africans too…from early years on….and for those of you who want to listen so some beautiful Afrikaans music…there’s a song for you to listen to…called..”Korreltjie Sand” – (grain of sand), the poem of Ingrid Jonker…as sung by Chris Chameleon. The following three links are pdf’s which you can download and it’s old Huisgenoot-mags. All the links will open in a new window. These files are quite large, they do take a few seconds to download. Wees geduldig! huisgenoot-julie-1916
This link is from my blogwhere I’ve previously posted in English about Ingrid Jonker with external links you can enjoy. She comitted suicide by walking into the sea.
By downloading the pdf-format of the old Huisgenoot issues, you can compare the covers which is interesting to see how much it’s changed. Even the format has changed over the years from a quite larger format to what it is now.
At the bottom of this link, – for people who want to do some “listening” only…there are some music files…some music from the good old “past”…I know the South Africans reading here – especially if you’re not “at home” – will appreciate these songs… and if you want to download the songs in a zip folder, go to this blog and voila! music-a-la-in-a-jiffy…or is it in a “zip”-py! For English “foreigners” reading here…”Rabbit” was one of South Africa’s rock band of the mid 70’s and they had a big hit…”Charlie”…read about Trevor Rabin…one member of the band…and why he’s now in Hollywood! You can listen to Charlie too…and a few other brilliant songs…all by Saffa-artists. Do enjoy! The first song at the bottom of this post, is an Afrikaans love song though..so go on, play it for your girl friend/boy friend…the title of the song…something like..”Are you still thinking of me”?
If you can’t read the following paragraph…it is Afrikaans! Ek het in Sept 2007 ‘n blog-inskrywing gemaak oor die 1916-Huisgenoot en hier sal jy ook die skakel kry na Tukkies waar ek die Huisgenoot-publikasies gekry het. Dit is in PDF-formaat en die skakels sal in ‘n nuwe bladsy oopmaak. Elkeen van die publikasies is sowat 8 MB en neem ‘n paar sekondes om af te laai en oop te maak. Wees maar bietjie geduldig. Daar is nog ‘n paar gediggies vanuit hierdie toeka-se-dae-uitgawes wat ek sal byvoeg met die tyd. Ek hoop julle geniet die musiek hier ook!
Chess played in South Africa in the early years: Organised club league chess is over 100 years old in Cape Town. Cape Town chess club, the oldest in South Africa (founded in 1885) together with Woodstock, Tokai and the YMCA club formed a union of clubs in 1907. Each club entered one team in the league at a fee of 1 pound-1-0 per team in the same year.
Teams of five competed in the inaugural competition. Cape Town was expected to win and did so but only by one point. In the double round robin they scored 10 match points, Woodstock 9, YMCA 6 and Tokai 0. Cape Town sensationally lost in the opening round to Woodstock, a club barely a year old, and had to field to their strongest possible team for the replay which they won by a single point. Source: Chess for all. The link will open in a new window. Some Chess records …about South Africa… Longest running correspondence chess rivalry. Reinhart Straszacker and Hendrick van Huyssteen, both of South Africa, played their first game of correspondence chess in 1946. They played for over 53 years, until Straszacker died in 1999. They played 112 games, with both men winning 56 games each. Source… https://www.chess.com/article/view/records-in-chess The Chessmaster Borislav Kosti toured South Africa in the 1920’s. I’ve lost my original link about him, but found another link…just after his image…and here’s a wiki-link too..http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Borislav_Kosti%C4%87
Bora (Borislav) Kosti – a Chess Grandmaster of the 1920’s
Bora Kostic was born on 24 February 1887 in Vrsac. His first chess steps he started when he was ten, and as early as he was in grammar school he was one of the best chess-players in Vrsac. His biggest competitor from the grammar school days was five years older, Sava Gerdec, who taught him the chess theory. Their fight for the chess reputation was finished when Kostic went to study to Budapest. He finished Oriental trade academy there, but without neglecting chess.
His first great chess result was achieved in Budapest 1909, when he won at the tournament of the greatest Hungarian chess amateurs. This victory opened the door of the Vienna chess society to young Kostic, and that was the chess metropolis of that time.
In 1911 he achieved sensational victory in the match with the American champion, Frank Marshall. His first real “baptism of fire” Bora Kostic had that same year at the International grand master tournament Karsbad (Karlove Vari). In extraordinarily strong competition he won the title of the international master. Then followed the visit to Nordic countries where he won over the champions of Danmark and Sweden, as well as the very powerful Rudolf Spielmann.
In 1913 he moved to the capital of Argentina, Buenos Aires where he worked as the chess lecturer at the Military academy. He had been cruising on one Argetine warship across many seas. In Argentina he won in the matches with all their best players, and also the champion of this country, Roland Ilja, 6:0.
In 1915 he went to New York and started the chess tour from the east to the west coast. On that famous six-month-long tour, Bora Kostic achieved the world record in the number of played games on simultaneous exhibitions. Out of 3281played games he lost only 112, and made draw in 237. During his stay in America he visited Nikola Tesla, while he was the chess teacher to the famous tenor singer Enrico Caruso.Playing numerous games and tournaments, master tournament of the “Manhattan chess” club being the most famous in 1918, Bora Kostic was ranked immediately after Capablanca on the whole American continent. Especially because their four games played at two tournaments ended draw. That was why their match in 1919 happened, when the genius Capablanca won with the great result.
In the same year he returned to Europe and in Hastings took the second place after Capablanca. The next year in Hastings he took the first place with 100% gained points, which nobody repeated during the long tradition of this tournament. Then came important tournament results: Gothenburg 1920 – IV place, Budapest 1921 – III-IV place, Hague 1921 IV-V place. In England he played simultaneous games and blind productions, animating the chess world with enthusiasm.
In Yugoslavia of that time the rivalry between dr Milan Vidmar and Bora Kostic was evident. Unfortunately, the match, the result of which should have shown who should have been given the title of the Yugoslav champion, was never organized.
Bora Kostic especially liked to travel and see new countries and customs, but also to play at the chess tournaments during those travels. So he organized world chess tour which lasted from 11 November 1923 to 28 May 1926. As he himself said to his friend Kosta Jovanovic immediately before the trip: “I want to see the world, those parts of the world that were only the objects of my imagination. I believe that on that trip there will be a lot of interest for chess. ” That was the mission which brought commercial success of great scale to the world chess. Certain Yugoslav master, demonstrating chess on, so to speak every step, in different countries, talks about his homeland about which many people have never even heard before. First he set off to Australia and New Zealand. Then over South Africa overland to Kenia, where the famous match on the equator was played. Bora Kostic was on the northern hemisphere, and his opponent on the south. His next stop was India, where he was at the end met by maharaja from Patiale (Schandagar), who organized tournaments on the hights of the Himalayas. From there he went to Nepal and on Tibet, and then to the island of Java in Indonesia. From Java he crossed to Sumatra where he played with the chief of the Bataki tribe. From there he moved to the Philipines, and then to Hong Kong and China. From China he moved to the Soviet Union from where his return to Vrsac began. Through Siberia, over Irkutsk, Novosibirsk, Omsk, Sverdlovsk, Moskow, Odessa, Leningrad to Riga. Everywhere he played simultaneous matches, blind games, matches, and as he himself confessed the greatest number of lost games he had, were played just in the Soviet Union. Finally, at the end of May 1926, he arrived to Vrsac and ended the first part of his trip around the world at the chess-board. Tireless chess traveller, he put foundations for the future chess links among the peoples of the whole world. …
First chess Olympics were played in 1927. godine. Bora Kostic played at the first board of the Yugoslav representation and won 8,5 points out of 15 games. The following year he won in Trencanske Toplice, and in 1930 he was IV in Nice. In the same year he continued his trip around the world. He went to Mexico where he stayed eight months. From there he went to Cuba, then to America, and came back from there in the middle of 1931 to arrive to the Olympics which took place in Prague. On that Olympics Yugosalvia was IV, the contribution of Bora Kostic on the third board was very important.Then came extraordinarily strong tournament in Bled , which was marked by the world champion Alekhin.
The first Yugoslav championships took place in 1935 in Belgrade. Bora Kostic shared the first place with Vasja Pirc. Bora Kostic achieved the greatest tournament result in 1938 in Ljubljana at the Yugoslav championships. With 10,5 points out of 15 games he won over the best Yugoslav players, as well as over Szabo, Tartakower and Steiner.
At the beginning of World War II the chess activity stopped for all those who did not want to play in Nazi Germany. Among them was also Bora Kostic who spent some time in the concentration camp in Veliki Beckerek (Zrenjanin) because of his patriotism. After the war he took part at several championships and smaller tournaments, and the last competition at which he won was the tournament of veterans – Zurich 1962.
Bora Kostic died in Belgrade, 3 November 1963. Perhaps, when we take into consideration only the objective power of some players, Uncle Bora would not be ranked in the world top. It may happen that his rich talent has worn out on his road filled with all kinds of events. The circumstances he lived under later did not allow him to fullfill his creative potentials to their full extent. However, as the chess-player he was a unique, extraordinary person. He devoted his life to chess and he was thrilled with it to the end of his life.The magic of the chess game took him to the great life adventure – to the long journey through the exotic, in that time unknown world. Source: See the link by his photo- it will open in a new window. You can play through his games on the link too.
Mode : Neklyne en haarstyle / Fashion: Necklines and hairstyles
Girl's dress
Marriage-couple
Mode/Fashion
Modes van 1916/Fashion 1916
Akteurs/Actors
Chris Chameleon singing “Korreltjie Sand” – (Grain of Sand)
Korreltjie Sand – lyrics
korreltjie korreltjie sand
klippie gerol in my hand
klippie gesteek in my sak
word korreltjie klein en plat
sonnetjie groot in die blou
ek maak net ‘n ogie van jou
blink in my korreltjie klippie
dit is genoeg vir die rukkie pyltjie geveer en verskiet
liefde verklein in die niet
timmerman bou aan ‘n kis
ek maak my gereed vir die niks
korreltjie klein is my woord
korreltjie niks is my dood
korreltjie klein
korreltjie sand kindjie wat skreeu uit die skoot
niks in die wêreld is groot
stilletjies lag nou en praat
stilte in doodloopstraat
wêreldjie rond en aardblou
korreltjie maak ek van jou
huisie met deur en twee skrefies
tuintjie met blou madeliefies pyltjie geveer en verskiet
liefde verklein in die niet
timmerman bou aan ‘n kis
ek maak my gereed vir die niks
korreltjie klein is my woord
korreltjie niks is my dood
korreltjie klein
korreltjie sand (5x)
You can read about Chris Chameleon on this link which will open in a new link.
The Original poem
Korreltjie niks is my dood Ingrid Jonker (1933-1965)
Korreltjie korreltjie sand
klippie gerol in my hand
klippie gesteek in my sak
word korreltjie klein en plat
Sonnetjie groot in die blou
korreltjie maak ek van jou
blink in my korreltjie klippie
dit is genoeg vir die rukkie
Kindjie wat skreeu uit die skoot
niks in die wêreld is groot
stilletjies lag nou en praat
stilte in doodloopstraat
Wêreldjie rond en aardblou
ek maak net ‘n ogie van jou
huisie met deur en twee skrefies
tuintjie met blou madeliefies
Pyltjie geveer in verskiet
liefde verklein in die niet
Timmerman bou aan ‘n kis
Ek maak my gereed vir die niks
Korreltjie klein is my woord
Korreltjie niks is my dood
Kontras Wit is die wêreld,
wit van die sneeuw.
Bokant die water
sweef daar ‘n meeuw;
blouw is die hemel,
nergens ‘n wolk:
oral is daar vrede
rondom die kolk.
Spierwitte wêreld,
diep in jouw siel
sug jij en smag jij
om te verniel;
skijn is jouw vrede,
donker jouw hart:
jij is maar blij oor
ander se smart
A D Keet: Amsterdam, Kersmis 1914
Digter Is Hij
Digter is hij, die digters-taal
Diep uit die grond van sijn hart kan haal;
En hij voel in sijn hart ‘n heerlike drang
Om ‘n vlugtige stemming in woorde te vang.
Digter is hij, die verse maak–
Verse, wat duisende harte kan raak.
Maar hij weet nie, waar hij die mag van haal:
Dis ‘n gawe, wat bo uit die hemel daal.
Digter is hij, die oog en oor
Tref met ‘n pragtige woordekoor;
En hij skep sijn lied soos ‘n vooltjie vrij,
Die sijn hele siel aan die wêreld belij.
Digter is hij, die sing en sing,
Fraai als ‘n vooltjie, wat vreugde bring:
Want hij hef sijn stem op ‘n lieflike maat
Van die môre vroeg tot die awend laat.
Digter is hij, die deur en deur
Voel, wat rondom en in hom gebeur;
Die sijn siel se gevoelens uit kan giet
In ‘n lewende, sprekende, roerende lied.
A D Keet
Wagter op die Toring
I (Januarie 1913)
Wagter op die toring,
sê, wat sien jij daar?
Ek sien duisend-duisendtalle
voor die gragte, voor die walle,
om die vesting aan te val.
Maar geen grag sal hul oor steek nie,
en geen poort sal hul deur breek nie,
want die burgers op die mure
staan getrouw en pal.
Wagter op die toring,
sê, is daar gevaar?
Is eie strijd dan uitgestrede,
dat die vijandsvlag in vrede
oor ons eie vesting waai?
Ag! die wagter lê in bande,
neergevel in bitt’re skande,
want die burgers op die mure
het die burg verraai.
II
(Junie 1915)
Wagter, die nag is donker,
donker en o, so bang:
vijande buite, wat raas en woed,
vriende gekeerd teen hul eie bloed,
en oor die burgers ‘n doodse slaap–
wagter, die nag was bang.
Trouw was jouw wag op die voorste wal,
helder en luid jouw basuingeskal,
maar oor die burgers ‘n doodse slaap–
wagter, hoe lang, hoe lang?
Wagter, siedaar, die skadewee
versmelt als, ‘n ligte skim
Hoor ‘n geruis in die beendre! die dood
voel nuwe lewe ontkiem in haar skoot.
Strijders, ontwaakte, die swaard ontbloot!
Wagter, ‘n goue môreson
verrijs aan die oosterkim.
—H A FAGAN
Die Visser
(Uit die Duits van Goethe)
Die water ruis, die water rol:
‘n visser sonder smart
sit daar te hengel vredevol,
ja koel tot in sijn hart.
En wijl hij loer en wijl hij sit,
deel sig die vloed in twee:
‘n vogtig meerwijf, haelwit,
stijg uit die siedende see.
Sij sing tot hom, sij spreek tot hom;
“Wat lok jij uit mijn skoot
“met mensekuns en menselis
“mijn kinders tot die dood?
“Wis jij hoe rijk die vissies is
“hier onder in die see,
“dan sou jij afdaal en gewis
“ook vind die ware vree.
“Moet nie die son en maan hul rig
“vir laafnis tot die vloed?
“Toon golwe-aad’mend hul gesig
“nie tweemaal skoner gloed?
“Ag jij die diepe hemel lig,
“die vog-beglansde blouw?
“Lok nie jouw eie aangesig
“jou in die eeuw’ge douw?”
Die water ruis, die water rol;
benat sijn naakte voet;
sijn hart word van verlange vol
als hij ‘n minnegroet.
Sij spreek tot hom, sij sing tot hom:
weerstaan kon hij nie meer;
half trek sij hom, half sink hij in,
en niemand sien hom weer.
J J S
Aan Mijn Vaderland
Trouwe liefde al mijn dae,
sweer ek jou met hand en hart!
Al jouw vreug is mijn behae,
en jouw leed mijn diepste smart!
Want mijn alles, selfs mijn lewe,
dank ek jou, mijn vaderland:
dis van jou mij vrij gegewe,
uitgereik met milde hand.
Daarom sing ek jou mijn sange
en mijn lied’re vir altijd;
daarom is ook mijn verlange
en mijn strewe jou gewijd.
Maar ons is nie net verenig
als jij in die sonskijn baai:
ek wil ook jouw smarte lenig,
als die stormwind anstig waai.
En nie net met woordeklanke
is ek tot jouw diens bereid:
met mijn daad is jij te danke
in jouw nood en angs en strijd.
Ek sal pal staan, tot ek sterwe
teen tiranne, wat jou druk:
tronk, verbanning wil ek erwe,
eer ek voor hul gruwels buk.
Is die nagte soms ook duister,
eind’lik daag dit in die oos,
en die dag vol glans en luister
bring die matte strijder troos.
Trouwe liefde al mijn dae.
sweer ek jou met hand en hart!
Al jouw vreug is mijn behae,
en jouw leed mijn diepste smart!
W.K. van Elssen
WINTER
Die eikebome
staan bleek en kaal,
en die popliere
als as so vaal,
Oor tuin en velde
kom elke nag
‘n kille laken
van spierwit prag.
Die newels drijwe
die vleie oor
en keer die sonskijn
aan al kant voor.
Die awendwindjie
speel langs die hang,
druk ijsig soene
op elke wang.
Dis oral aaklige!
Natuur is dood;
en ook mijn harte
word swaar als lood.
Maar nee, mijn liefste!
ek kan nie treur:
jouw liefde lewe
om op te beur.
Jouw oë melde
in minnegloed
waar wintersweeë
vergeefs teen woed.
Dit wil mijn siele
verwarm, verblij,
en vir die lente
reeds voorberei.
W K van Elssen
THE FISHERMAN.
THE waters rush’d, the waters rose,
A fisherman sat by,
While on his line in calm repose
He cast his patient eye.
And as he sat, and hearken’d there,
The flood was cleft in twain,
And, lo! a dripping mermaid fair
Sprang from the troubled main.
She sang to him, and spake the while:
“Why lurest thou my brood,
With human wit and human guile
From out their native flood?
Oh, couldst thou know how gladly dart
The fish across the sea,
Thou wouldst descend, e’en as thou art,
And truly happy be!
“Do not the sun and moon with grace
Their forms in ocean lave?
Shines not with twofold charms their face,
When rising from the wave?
The deep, deep heavens, then lure thee not,–
The moist yet radiant blue,–
Not thine own form,–to tempt thy lot
‘Midst this eternal dew?”
The waters rush’d, the waters rose,
Wetting his naked feet;
As if his true love’s words were those,
His heart with longing beat.
She sang to him, to him spake she,
His doom was fix’d, I ween;
Half drew she him, and half sank he,
And ne’er again was seen.
Goethe: 1779
An Afrikaans love song…
Luister na “Dink jy darem nog aan my”
Sias Reyneke was member of “Groep Twee” – (Group Two)
Joy: Paradise Road
Joy
Master Jack
It’s a strange, strange world we live in, Master Jack.
You taught me all I know and I never look back.
It’s a very strange world and I thank you, Master Jack.
You took a coloured ribbon from out of the sky,
and taught me how to use it as the years went by.
To tie up all your problems and make them believe.
And then to sell them to the people in the street.
It’s a strange, strange world we live in, Master Jack.
You taught me all I know and I never look back.
It’s a very strange world and I thank you, Master Jack.
I saw right thru the way you started teaching me now.
So someday soon you could get to use me somehow.
I thank you very much you know you’ve been very kind.
But, I’d better move along before you change my mind
It’s a strange, strange world we live in, Master Jack
No hard feelings if I never come back
It’s a very strange world and I thank you, Master Jack
You taught me all the things the way you’d like ’em to be.
But I’d like to see if other people agree.
It’s all very interesting the way you describe
But I’d like to see the world thru my own eyes.
It’s a strange, strange world we live in, Master Jack.
No hard feelings if I never come back
You’re a very strange man and I thank you, Master Jack.
You’re a very strange man and I thank you, Master Jack.
You’re a very strange man, aren’t you, Master Jack?
Four Jacks and a Jill with “Master Jack”
http://www.mnet.co.za/Mnet/Shows/carteblanche/story.asp?Id=2876 Rabbit…South Africa’s rock group from the 70’s with Duncan Faure, Trevor Rabin, Dave Matthews…read the next article about Trevor! Read this article about Trevor Rabin… now in Hollywood…writing the score for Hollywood movies…-follow the link to Mnet.
He wrote the score for Hollywood movies like Enemy of the State, Armageddon and National Treasure and won more awards than he can count, including several Grammies.
It started off with classical piano lessons as a boy. ? He then embarked on a lifelong love affair with the guitar. The name is Trevor Rabin, South Africa’s celebrated guitarist, singer, songwriter and composer.
You might remember him from Rabbit or Yes, but Trevor Rabin has left the rock stage for the lights of Hollywood. He has written the score for 25 movies.
Here at his Los Angeles home studio, he creates the stuff Hollywood dreams are made of.
A stone’s throw from the houses of the producers and actors he composes for, Trevor is crafting away at the music of yet another feature film – Glory Road, to be released soon
If you would watch or listen to a movie without the music, you would be amazed as to what a difference the score makes. And that is where Trevor has found a new profession – playing with our emotions. Continue reading on the link in the start of this article…and now you can listen to..Charlie!
Image: geni.com
The Laager…of the Trekkers…at the Ncome river. Read on the Wiki-link more about this battle. All links in this post will open in a new window. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_Blood_River
Today, 16th December, is an important day in the history of South Africa. In 1838 a battle was fought on the banks of the River Ncome. The battle was won by a small number of Trekkers vs thousands of Zulus. Previously, this day was called the Day of the Covenant, now it’s called Reconciliation Day. This day will always remind us of our forefathers that sought a better life. History is one thing you can’t change. Governments can change, people can change, but not history.
Day of the Vow.
Read on this WIKI-link more about the 16th December, the Day of the Vow. On this next link you can read about the Boer War on my blog.
On 16 December 1838 where a meagre force of 470 Voortrekkers defeated an army of ten thousand Zulus under the command of Dingane. Only three Voortrekkers were wounded, and some 3,000 Zulu warriors were killed.
After suffering heavy losses at the hands of the warriors of Zulu King Dingane (c. 1795-1840), a Voortrekker commando advanced against the former in December 1838. As it was evident that they would be faced by superior enemy numbers, the Voortrekkers were induced by A.W.J. Pretorius (1798-1853) and S.A. Cilliers (1801-1871), to enter into a covenant with God. Its exact words were not recorded, but eyewitnesses’ later versions concurred that God had been requested to assist them in vanquishing the Zulu Army. Should they be victorious, the Voortrekkers undertook that they and their descendants would annually dedicate the day of the conquest to the glory of God alone. The Battle of Blood River took place on 16 December 1838, marking the Voortrekkers’ desired victory. On the same day, the Covenant was fulfilled for the first time on the very battlefield. Thus the oldest Afrikaner national celebration, later known as Dingaan’s Day or Day of the Covenant, came about.
Initially the Covenant was commemorated in a small way by families and religious associates. In 1864 the General Synod of the Afrikaners’ Natal Churches agreed that 16 December would henceforth be celebrated as ecclesiastical day of thanksgiving by all its congregations. This was the result of the efforts of two Dutch clergymen and supporters of Revival Theology, namely Revs. D.P.M. Huet (1827-1895) and F.L. Cachet (1835-1899). In 1865 the Executive Counsel of the South African Republic declared 16 December to be a public holiday in this Boer Republic. During the Anglo Transvaal (1880-1881) and Anglo Boer Wars (1899-1902), the commemoration of the Covenant inspired Afrikaners. The celebrations acquired a deeply nationalistic significance. A growing number of Covenant ceremonies were annually being organised throughout the Boer Republics and northern Natal. In 1894 the Government of the Free State also declared 16 December to be a public holiday. English-speaking compatriots and members of other races in general attached little importance to the Covenant, normally utilising 16 December for recreational purposes only. In 1910 an act was passed by Parliament according to which 16 December would be celebrated as a national holiday (Dingaan’s Day) throughout the Union of South Africa, as of 1911.
The celebration of the Covenant of 1838 has had an inestimable influence on Afrikaner and even South African cultural history. It played an important religious, national, social and educational role in everyday life, stimulating and shaping the Afrikaner’s creativity, historical consciousness, ethics and intercultural relations. In 1952 the name of the day was changed from Dingaan’s Day to Day of the Covenant. After 1994, in post-apartheid South Africa, it has still remained a public holiday, even though it is now known as Day of Reconciliation. The fact that it has been retained as a holiday is regarded as a significant gesture of goodwill towards Afrikaners.
English: Here we stand before the holy God of heaven and earth, to make a vow to Him that, if He will protect us and give our enemy into our hand, we shall keep this day and date every year as a day of thanksgiving like a sabbath, and that we shall erect a house to His honour wherever it should please Him, and that we also will tell our children that they should share in that with us in memory for future generations. For the honour of His name will be glorified by giving Him the fame and honour for the victory.
Blood River – painting
Image: southafrica-travel.net
On this link you can read more about King Dingane, the Zulu king and Piet Retief, battles that were fought, also about the Battle of Weenen in South Africa’s history.
Oktober 2010: Hierdie foto van ‘Outa Flink’ is deur die Voortrekker/Msunduzi Museum, Pietermaritzburg aan my verskaf en ek wil graag vir Elrica Olivier daar bedank! Volgens inligting is ‘Outa Flink’ tydens die Slag van Bloedrivier gevange geneem en het hy vir Schalk Burger gewerk en is hy op die plaas Goedgedacht begrawe! [Goedgedacht is waar ek groot geword het!] Ons is tans besig om meer inligting oor ‘Outa Flink’ te bekom as ook die Gelofte Kerkie.
Update oor Outa Flink
Hy het op die plaas vir Schalk Burger gewerk. Hy is dood as gevolg van ouderdom en het daar bly woon na die ABO omdat sy familie nie opgespoor kon word nie. Schalk Burger het hom oor hom ontferm en basies vir hom ‘gesorg’.
‘Bloedrivier’
In 1838 is God se hulp gevra om die boere in hul nood te steun, te behoed en te bewaar
‘n Monument sal hulle bou en die dag sal heilig bly,
Hul grootste wapen – hul geloof – met die Here aan hul sy …
Die nag was kul en donker, die impi’s staan en wag,
die lampies op die ossewaens soos Mahlozi’s in die nag
‘n Strandwolf sluip daar tussendeur, hy’s onheilspellend daar
Die mis sak toe, die vyand druis, hul wag op die bevel.
In die geslote walaer, in ‘n see van heidendom
is daar ‘n lig wat helder skyn – die lig van Christendom.
Die stemme van ‘n mannekoor weerklink deur digte mis
Psalm agt-en-dertig, stel almal weer gerus.
KOOR
Maar dieselfde God van Bloedrivier is steeds ons God vandag
Hy verstaan ons grootste vrese, Hy staan by ons deur die nag
Kom ons almal vat weer hande, erken sy grote Mag
Want dieselfde God van Bloedrivier is steeds met ons vandag
Twee skote van ‘n dubbel-loop, die stryd het pas begin
Die isilongo kondig aan Dingaan – ons sal oorwin
Maar God ons Vader is met ons, die vyand word verslaan
Die veld drink bloed, soos op Golgota – dit moet ons verstaan
KOOR Maar dieselfde God van Bloedrivier is steeds ons God vandag
Hy verstaan ons grootste vrese, Hy staan by ons deur die nag
Kom ons almal vat weer hande, erken sy grote Mag
Want dieselfde God van Bloedrivier is steeds met ons vandag
The Battle Of Blood River A word of thousands of Zulus on their way,
Made the boere’s wives ready to pray,
The question: to meet them or to wait?
That was Cilliers and Andries’ debate.
464 Boere waited quietly and shiver,
Next to a donga and the Ncome river.
That evening around the laager the mist lay,
But ghostly lamps kept the zulus at bay.
As dawn finally broke on a Sunday,
All of Zululand sat there that day.
10 000 Zulu warriors ready for blood,
Running to fight through the river’s mud!
Andries Pretorius was the boer leader,
The Zulus attacked without a breather.
Assagai and the long throwing spear,
Had the single shot boer Muskets in fear.
Dambuza and Ndlela’s thousands of zulu men,
Made Pretorius feel they’re in the lion’s den.
Zulus shot running through the river’s mud,
Made the river’s water turn to human blood.
The boere prayed and asked the Lord in fear,
To deliver them from the zulu spear.
Vowed to build a church and always remember
To Sabbath the date of 16 December.
Two hours later and 4 waves of spears,
Pretorius’ men let go of their fears.
Chased after the zulus as they scattered.
Truly that day the warriors got battered.
Die volgende inligting kom van die Bloedrivier.org website.
Wie was daar met die slag van Bloedrivier?
Soek gerus jou famielie naam op, hul bloed vloei nog daagliks deur jou are !
Met erkenning aan Johann Janse van Rensburg en byvoegings deur Gerhard Swart. (bloedrivier.org)
Hier volg ‘n lys van 351 persone van die totale getal van 464 (verwys #) blanke krygers en die 59 kleurlinge wat aan die slag van Bloedrivier op 16 Desember 1838 deelgeneem het.
Waar moontlik word die persoon se genealogiese nommer ook verskaf. (BRON (verwys ##): Die Bloedrivierse Eeufeesgedenkboek opgestel deur A.C. du Toit en Dr. Louis Steenkamp, die lys is verder bygewerk deur die Genealogiese Genootskap van Suid-Afrika – N-Tvl Tak.)
Hoofkommandant:
1. Pretorius Andries Wilhelmus Jacobus (verwys nota 1) (b3c1d5e11)
Assistent-HoofKmdt:
2. Landman Karel Pieter (b2c10)
Kommandante:
3. Jacobsz Pieter Daniel(a15b5c3d8e1)
4. de Lange Johan Hendrik (Hans Dons)(b10c2)
5. Potgieter Jacobus (Koos)
6. Erasmus Stephanus Petrus
7. Uys Jacobus Johannes(b1c5d2e4)
8. Meyer Lucas Johannes
Veldkornette:
13. Steyn Johannes C
14. Viljoen Gert
15. Pretorius Hercules Albertus (Bart)(b3c1d5e14) Broer van AWJ Pretorius (kanonier)
16. van Staden Gert (verwys nota 2)
17. Lombard Hermanus Stephanus
18. Scheepers Jan
19. Fourie Hermanus
20. Cowie William (a1)
21. Labuschagne Casper
22. Joubert Jan (ook kanonnier)
Godsdiensleiers:
23. Cilliers Sarel Arnoldus(b2c1d7e4)
24. du Plessis Johannes (Jan) (ook ‘n Veldkornet)
25. Joubert Pieter Jacobus (b10c6d9 moontlik)
Kanonniers:
26. Rudolph Petrus Johannes (b1c1d2)
27. Pretorius Gerhardus
Manskappe:
28. Aucamp Piet
29. Badenhorst Hendrik
30. Badenhorst P
31. Bantjes Jan Gerritze (b1c3d3)
32. Bantjies I
33. Beneke Johannes
34. Bester Barend Jacobus (b4c3d4e3) (sneuwel by slag van Umfolozi)
35. Bester Lourens ERasmus (b4c3d4e2)
36. Bester Paul Ma(i)chiel (b4c3d4e1)
37. Bezuidenhout Daniel Pieter
38. Biddulph Thomas Jervis (a1)
39. Bierman Isak
40. Biggar Alexander Harvey (a1) (sneuwel by slag van Umfolozi)
41. Bodes Barend Hendrik
42. Bornman Johannes Jurgens (b1c3)
43. Boshoff Jakobus (Jan)
44. Botha Ernst Adriaan Lodewyk (b1c7d1e15)
45. Botha Hendrik
46. Botha J C
47. Botha Jan
48. Botha L
49. Botha P J
50. Botha P R
51. Botha T F
52. Botha Theunis
53. Bothma Carel A
54. Bothma Daniel
55. Breytenbach Chris
56. Breytenbach Izaak Johannes (b4c1d4)
57. Breytenbach Jacob Coenraad
58. Breytenbach Johan Hendrik
59. Breytenbach Johannes Jacobus
60. Bronkhorst Johannes Jacobus (b6c6)
61. Bronkhorst Johannes Jacobus (b6c6d4)
62. Bronkhorst Samuel Johannes (b6c6d9)
63. Bruwer Eduard Christiaan Daniel (b7c4d12)
64. Bruwer Hans
65. Bruyn Piet
66. Buitendagh Carel Hendrik
67. Burger Jacobus Johannes
68. Burger Schalk Willem
69. Buys Piet
70. Claassens Christiaan Cornelis
71. Coetzee Cornelis (P-zn)
72. Coetzer Johannes Jacobus
73. Coetzer Philippus Jeremias
74. Coetzer Thys
75. Combrinck Gerhardus Hermanus Jacobus
76. Cronje Abraham Martinus
77. Cronje Piet
78. Davel Henning
79. Davel Jan
80. Dannhauser Thomas Richard (b6)
81. de Beer Christiaan Marthinus (Snr)
82. de Beer Abraham Samuel Jacobus
83. de Beer Christiaan Marthinus (Jnr)
84. de Beer Johannes (Jan) Christiaan
85. de Beer Johannes Adam
86. de Beer Stephanus A (Snr)
87. de Beer Zacharias Jacobus
88. de Bruyn Petrus Frederik
89. de Clercq Abraham Johannes
90. de Clercq Barend Jacobus
91. de Clercq Cornelis
92. de Clercq Jacob (b6c3d5)
93 de Clercg Johannes Wilhelmus
94. de Jager Frederick Johannes
95. de Jager Izak J
96. de Jager Johannes Wilhelmus (b1c11d5e5)
97. de Jager Lodewyk
98. de Lange Adriaan (Jnr)
99. de Lange Adriaan Jacobus (Snr, Hans Dons se broer)
100. de Lange Robertus Burnet (Broer van Hans Dons)
101. de Wet Kootjie
102. de Wet Pieter
103. de Winnaar Carel Stephanus
104. Dreyer Christiaan Lourens Sr.
105. Dreyer F
106. Dreyer I
107. du Plessis Francois
108. du Plessis Johannes (Jan)
109. du Plessis Pieter
110. du Plooy Hendrik
111. du Plooy Cornelis Willem
112. du Plooy Dirk Wouter
113. du Preez Pieter Daniel Andreas Salomon
114. Deysel F
115. Engelbregt Adriaan Stephanus
116. Engelbregt E
117. Engelbregt Gerhardus Johannes
118. Engelbregt H (jong)
119. Engelbregt H H (Snr)
120. Engelbregt Johannes Hendrik
121. Enslin Johannes Jacobus
122. Erasmus Antonie Philippus
123. Erasmus Barend Christoffel
124. Erasmus Cornelis Johannes
125. Erasmus Daniel Elardus
126. Erasmus Hans
127. Erasmus Jacobus
128. Erasmus Pieter ERasmus
129. Erasmus Stephanus E
130. Esterhuizen Jan Christoffel
131. Ferreira Marthinus Stephanus
132. Fick Hendrik (JC?)
133. Fisher Jan
134. Fourie Christiaan Erns
135. Fourie Dirk S
136. Fourie Hermanus
137. Fourie Philip Jacobus (Gewond tydens slag van Bloedrivier)
138. Fourie MVA
139. Garden Kapt. (Engels)
140. Geers Carel Frederik Christoffel (of Geer)
141. Geere Johannes (Jan) Coenraad Jonas
142. Giezing Fredrich (a1)
143. Goosen Marthinus2
144. Gouws Daniel
145. Gouws Jacob I
146. Gouws Jacob Marthinus
147. Gouws Pieter Marthinus
148. Greyling Jan Cristoffel (b11c2d3)
149. Greyling Pieter Jacobus (b11c2d2)
150. Grobbelaar Nicolaas (b9c11)
151. Grobbelaar Pieter Schalk (b9c11d2)
152. Grobler J
153. Grove Hermanus Gerhardus (b3c9d5)
154. Hammes Pieter Johannes (b1c2)
155. Hattingh Christiaan
156. Hattingh Francois (b8c7d4e1)
157. Hattingh Johannes Dewald
158. Hattingh Johannes Hendrik (Hans) (b11c1d2e1)
159. Herbst Marthinus Johannes Hendrik
160. Heydenreich Cornelis Frederik (b6c2d2)
161. Human Petrus Gerhardus
162. Jacobs Gabriel Gerhardus Nicholaas Nic (a15b5c3d8e1f7) (Kmdt. Jacobz se seun)
163. Jacobs Pieter Daniel (a15b5c3d8e1f2)
164. Jacobsz Jan (Kmdt. Jacobz se seun)
165. Janse van Rensburg Lukas Marthinus
166. Janse van Rensburg Nicolaas Marthinus (C-zn)
167. Janse van Rensburg Willem Cornelis
168. Janse van Vuren Luckas (of Lucas) Gerhardus
169. Janszen Willem
170. Jordaan Willem
171. Joubert Abraham Benjamin
172. Joubert Gideon
173. Joubert Jan (Jacs-zn)
174. Joubert Jan (jnr.)
175. Joyce Robert (a3)
176. Kemp Gerhardus Philippus
177. Kemp Jacobus Frederik
178. Kemp Petrus Johannes
179. Kilian Justus Daniel (Nageslag boer steeds op Vryheid)
180. Klaassen P
181. Klopper Hendrik Balthazar
182. Klopper Jacobus Marthinus
183. Klopper Johan Christiaan
184. Koekemoer C
185. Koekemoer Marthinus
186. Kritzinger Lewis
187. Kritziinger Matthys S B
188. Kruger Jan
189. Kruger Pieter Ernst
190. Kruger Tobias Johannes
191. Laas Cornelius Johannes
192. Laas C Mathys
193. Laas JAM
194. Labuschagne J P
195. Labuschagne Jan Harm (Jan Groen)
196. Labuschagne Willem Adriaan
197. Landman Jan A Karel Pieter (Snr)
198. Landman Jan (Doringberg)
199. le Roux D
200. le Roux Nicolaas (verwys nota 2)
201. Leech
202. Liebenberg Christiaan Jacobus (b2bc2d2e2)
203. Liebenberg Christiaan Jacobus (b2c2d6)
204. Lindeque Gerrit Johannes (Snr)
205. Lindeque Petrus
206. Lombard Hans
207. Lombard Hermanus Antonie
208. Lombard S
209. Lotter Johannes (Lotter Jacob?)
210. Ludick M J
211. Malan Daniel Jacob Johannes
212. Malan David Daniel
213. Malan Jacob Jacobus
214. Malan Stephanus Marcus F
215. Marais Coenraad
216. Marais Johannes L
217. Marais Stephanus Abraham
218. Marais F
219. Marcus F
220. Mare Wynand Wilhelmus (b9c7d7)
221. Maritz Pieter
222. Maritz Salomon Gerhardus (b1c8d1e2)
223. Maritz Salomon Stephanus (b1c8d2e1)
224. Martens Hendrik Jacobus (a5b1c7)
225. Martens Jan Thomas (snr) (a5b1c6)
226. Martens Jan Thomas (jnr)
227. Marx Frans Engelbertus (b3c6d4)
228. Meintjes Albertus Jacobus
229. Meinties Jacobus William
230. Meintjes Schalk Willem
231. Mey Christiaan Lodewyk
232. Meyer Adriaan Willem Petrus
233. Meyer Jacob
234. Meyer Jan
235. Meyer Lukas (L-zn)
236. Meyer Theodorus
237. Mienie Frederik Christiaan
238. Mienie Johannes
240. Moolman I
241. Moolman Adriaan Izak
242. Moolman Jacobus Philippus
243. Muller Johannes Christiaan (moontlik a1b5c7d4)
244. Muller Jan (moontlik a11b2)
245. Naude Jacob
246. Naude Philip Jacobus
247. Naude Francois Paulus
248. Neethling Hendrik Ludolf
249. Neethling Schalk Willem
250. Neethling Willem Hendrik
251. Nel Louis Jacobus
252. Nell Theunis Jacobus
253. Nell Willem Gabriel
254. Nortje Joachim
Oberholzer Jan Albert
Olivier (Lang) Gert
Olivier Ockert
Oosthuizen A
Oosthuizen Jan (J-zn) (verwys nota 2)
Oosthuizen J J (Snr)
Oosthuizen Marthinus Jacobus (b1c4d7e2)
Opperman C
Opperman D
Parker Edward
Pieters Coenraad
Pieterse Frederik
Pieterse H J
Pieterse Nicolaas
Potgieter Cornelis
Potgieter Evert F
Potgieter Hendrik
Potgieter Jurgen
Potgieter Matthys
Potgieter Petrus Hendrik Theunis
Potgieter Theodorus
Pretorius A P
Pretorius Barend
Pretorius Dewald Johannes (b3c1d2e4f4)
Pretorius Gideon
Pretorius Henning Petrus Nicolaas (b3c1d5e12)
Pretorius Marthinus Wessel (b3c1d5e11f1)
Pretorius Nicolaas
Pretorius Petrus Gerhardus (b3c9d7)
Pretorius Petrus Gerhardus (b3c9d7e2)
Pretorius Samuel
Pretorius Willem H
Pretorius Willem Jacobus
Prinsloo Jochemus Johannes Petr (b2c3d6e1f3)
Prinsloo N J
Prinsloo Willem P
Raads D
Raath Philip
Raath Pieter
Raath Roelof
Raatz Gerrit1
Ranger Simon
Reineke Adam
Retief Jacobus
Robbertse I
Robbertse Jan
Robbertse Matthys
Roets Hendrik
Rood
Roos Cornelis J
Roos Gysbert
Roscher P
Roux Dirk
Rudolph Jacobus Andreas (b1c3)
Rudolph Johann(es)Bernard (b1c1)
Rudolph Gerhardus Jacobus (b1c2)
Scheepers Coenraad F(swaer v. Erasmus Smit)
Scheepers Gert
Scheepers H
Scheepers J A
Scheepers Jacobus Johannes
Scheepers Stephanus Johannes
Scheepers M (G-zn)
Scheepers Marthinus
Schoeman Gert
Schoeman Johannes
Schutte Jan Harm Thomas
Slabbert G
Smit Andries Adriaan
Smit Chr. (C-zn)
Smith F
Snyman Coenraad F W (b7c4d9e7)
Snyman J H
Steenkamp Hermanus
Steenkamp Jan Harm (b7c2d3e2)
Steenkamp Piet L
Steenkamp Thomas Ignatius
Steyn Hermanus
Steyn Johannes Christoffel
Steyn Pieter
Strydom D J
Strydom Hendrik
Strydom J
Strydom Pieter Gerhardus
Swanepoel Willem
Swart Marius
Swart Pieter Johannes
Uys Dirk Cornelis (b1c5d2e12)
Uys Jacobus Johannes (b1c5d2e4f3)
Uys Jan C
Uys Petrus Lafras (Piet Hlobane)(b1c5d2e3f4)
van den Berg Hendrik (b1c10d6)
van den Berg Hendrik Stephanus (b1c10d6e3)
van der Berg Isak
van der Merwe Andries
van der Merwe C
van der Merwe Christiaan Pieter (verwys nota 3)
van der Merwe Frederik J
van der Merwe Jan
van der Merwe Josias
van der Merwe L P
van der Merwe Lukas J
van der Merwe M
van der Merwe Willem
van der Schyff D
van der Schyff J D
van Deventer Jan (a1b5c10d6)
van Dyk Joseph
van Dyk Sybrand
van Gass Ferdinand Paul George (b1)
van Gass J F
van Jaarsveld A
van Loggerenberg Hendrik
van Niekerk Izak Andries (b3c7d4e4)
van Niekerk J A P
van Niekerk Pieter Johannes
van Rooyen Cornelis J
van Rooyen Dirk
van Rooyen G T
van Rooyen Gert F
van Rooyen Gert Reinier
van Rooyen I
van Rooyen Lukas
van Rooyen Stephanus
van Schalkwyk Christiaan
van Schalkwyk Gert
van Staden Cornelis
van Staden V C
van Straten Jacob
van Venen D
van Vuuren P
van Zyl Jacobus
Venter Albert
Venter C I
Venter P A
Venter Willem Daniel
Vermaak Cornelis
Vermaak J
Viljoen Christoffel
Viljoen Gideon
Viljoen Johan H
Viljoen M
Viljoen Sarel
Visagie Jan
Visser
Notas:
1. Gewond gedurende die slag van Bloedrivier.
2. Dood gedurende die opvolg operasie om Dingaan te probeer vang op 27 Desember 1838.
3. Slegs lig gewond gedurende die slag van Bloedrivier.
Ander brokkies inligting:
Johann Bernhard Rudolph was van die begin van die trek betrokke met die administrasie en is in 1839 as die eerste Weesheer aangewys en in 1842 as Landros van Pietermaritzburg.
Lucas Johannes Meyer aangestel as die eerste Ontvanger van Inkomste.
William Cowie is die persoon na wie Cowie’s Hill naby Pinetown vernoem is.
Thomas Jervis Biddulph was ‘n 1820 Settelaar.
Coenraad Snyman was ‘n fotograaf. Hy was ook baie groot, so groot dat hy nie perd kon ry nie. ‘n Broek van hom is in bewaring by die Gelofte Kerk Museum in PMB.
Hendrik Jacobus Martens is aangestel as die eerste bode van die hof.
# Daar is ook bronne wat verwys na 407 blankes. J.G. Bantjes verwys egter na sowat 464 blanke manskappe uitsluitend die kommandante. Daar is ook bronne wat verwys na sowat 200 swartes wat saam met A.Biggar, E.Parker en R.Joyce aan die geveg kom deelneem het.
## Ander bronne: P.S. de Jongh, Sarel Cilliers; E Smit, Dagboek van Erasmus Smit; J.A. Heese & R.T.J.Lombard, SA Gegeslagsregisters; De Villiers & Pama, Geslagsregisters van ou Kaapse Families; B. Cilliers, Genealogieë van die Afrikaner Families in Natal; SABW 1-5; A. Walker, The Great Trek.
Image: dreams.co.uk How do you feel about sleep? Sometimes I can go a whole night without sleep, but I will surely feel knackered two days later! I love being in bed at night when the rain is tapping on the roof. Weekends I like to lie in…and then get a nice breakfast in bed! …now to the music! I’ve these wonderful music, two tracks from a chess friend and he also sent me the third track by Hennie Bekker and suddenly! I found myself busy with an entry on sleep!! I even found you an interesting link about the stages of sleep and one about sleep deprivation…that’s for me, actually…lol! It was truly not my intention to blog about sleep when I uploaded these snippets of music, but at the end, after searching for some images, I came across these interesting info and sites and thought to share it with you as it was interesting to me. I blog about stuff which I enjoy/find interesting…apart from chess…my blog is sort of a “gathering space” for info I want to refer back to, but also in the hope that other people will find it useful too or will enjoy it at least. In the same process, I also found music for children with Aspergers! I’ve worked with children with Aspergers syndrome, Down Syndrome and also Autistic children and they are all a pleasure to work with!
I’ve come across music for ASD– the link will open in a new window – which you will find in this post. You can read more about ASD on the link and there’s another link in this post for you to follow up too, if you are more interested in Autistic children. Seven hours sleep a night helps reduce heart problems. Read the article…the link will open in a new window.
Firstly, enjoy “Sea of Dreams”…this track is about 5 min, but you get to listen to only a taster of it, as well as the other tracks. Tranquil Realms is about 11 min but the taster only about 2 min. For Afrikaans speaking people, I wonder if you can remember the Afrikaans poem about sleep! Please find it at the bottom of my post, a wonderful poem by DF Malherbe! In this poem he asks God to shut his eyes one day like the little girl’s when she falls asleep… On my blog on this link you can read about dreams…the link will open in a new window.
Sea of Dreams..by Angelle
Sleepy Time…by Angelle
Hennie Bekker…Tranquil Realms
Read on this link about sleep cycles. The link will open in a new window. Read on this pdf-link on wiki about dreaming.
The Effects of Sleep Deprivation on Brain and Behavior
Sarah Ledoux
Sleep deprivation is a commonplace occurrence in modern culture. Every day there seems to be twice as much work and half as much time to complete it in. This results in either extended periods of wakefulness or a decrease in sleep over an extended period of time. While some people may like to believe that they can train their bodies to not require as much sleep as they once did this belief is false . Sleep is needed to regenerate certain parts of the body, especially the brain, so that it may continue to function optimally. After periods of extended wakefulness or reduced sleep neurons may begin to malfunction, visibly effecting a person’s behavior. Some organs, such as muscles, are able to regenerate even when a person is not sleeping so long as they are resting. This could involve lying awake but relaxed within a quite environment. Even though cognitive functions might not seem necessary in this scenario the brain, especially the cerebral cortex, is not able to rest but rather remains semi-alert in a state of “quiet readiness” . Certain stages of sleep are needed for the regeneration of neurons within the cerebral cortex while other stages of sleep seem to be used for forming new memories and generating new synaptic connections. The effects of sleep deprivation on behavior have been tested with relation to the presence of activity in different sections of the cerebral cortex.
The temporal lobe of the cerebral cortex is associated with the processing of language. During verbal learning tests on subjects who are fully rested functional magnetic resonance imaging scans show that this area of the brain is very active. However, in sleep deprived subjects there is no activity within this region. The effects of this inactivity can be observed by the slurred speech in subjects who have gone for prolonged periods with no sleep .
Please click HERE more about sleep deprivation and brain behaviour…the link will open in a new window.
The music in ‘Sleep’ has been designed to be physically relaxing – the program features no distracting surprises and feels like slow, steady breathing, to help transport the listener away from the stresses of the day towards restful sleep.
This CD, with music composed by Hennie Bekker, incorporates scientific principles of sonic response, and is designed to nudge your mind toward deep and refreshing sleep.
On this link you can listen to more snippets of his music. The link will open in a new window.
Hennie Bekker
African Roots Bekker was raised in Mufulira, a Zambian copper mining town 10 miles south of the Congo border. In those early years, he was captivated by the symphonic sounds of the African wilderness, the haunting harmonies of tribal chanting and the rhythmic dialogue of drummers communicating between camps at sundown. He is a self-taught pianist who had his professional debut at age 15, spending the next decade performing with various bands throughout Zambia, Zaire, Zimbabwe and Kenya. His success as a fusion-jazz musician and band leader elevated him to become the musical director for one of South Africa’s largest record companies. Here, he added scores of film, television, radio and commercial music to his list of career accomplishments.
Read more about Hennie Bekker here, the link will open in a new window. If you click on “home”, you will find youtube-videos of him to watch.
On the “music” link you will find more albums, even some Africa-music and snippets to listen to.
Asperger’s Syndrome is a condition that was initially described by Dr. Hans Asperger’s 1944 doctoral thesis. It was not until 37 years later, in 1981, however, that Dr. Lorna Wing used the term “Asperger’s Syndrome” in a paper that helped to introduce this condition to the English-speaking world.
As described by Dr. Wing, the primary clinical features of Asperger’s Syndrome include:
naïve, inappropriate, one-sided social interactions
limited ability to establish relationships
poor non-verbal communication
a lack of emotional empathy
pedantic, repetitive speech
intense absorption in certain subjects
clumsy, un-coordinated movements
odd postures
Currently, the prevailing view is that Asperger’s Syndrome is a Pervasive Developmental Disorder which falls at the high end of the Autism Spectrum continuum.
BEHAVIORAL DEFINITION
The autism spectrum extends from “classic autism” — which lies at the lower end of the spectrum– through ASPERGER’S SYNDROME, which is characterized as being at the mildest and highest functioning end of the spectrum –or Pervasive Developmental Disorder–Continuum
The major source of stress in life for the person with Asperger’s Syndrome is social contact, and increased stress generally leads to anxiety disorders and depression Attwood, T. Asperger’s Syndrome: A Guide for Parents and Professionals, 1998, p. 148.
AS represents a neurologically-based disorder of development
AS reflects deviations or abnormalities in four aspects of development:
(1) Social relatedness and social skills
(2) The use of language for purposes of communication
(3) Certain behavioral and stylistic characteristics such as repetitive or persevering features
(4) Limited, but intense, range of interests
These dysfunctional features can range from mild to severe
“The Epidemiology of Asperger Syndrome: A Total Population Study” by Ehlers and Gillberg (retrieve citation) 2001), it is estimated that the prevalence of Asperger is 2.6 per 1,000 individuals. With the population of the U.S. currently estimated at 275 million (July 2000), this would mean an estimated 715,000 people are affected by Asperger’s syndrome in the U.S. alone”
Stewart, K. (2002). Helping a Child with Nonverbal Learning Disorder or Asperger’s Syndrome, p. 148
AS is characterized by:
high cognitive abilities — or, at least, “normal” IQ level
extending into the very superior range of cognitive ability
normal language function when compared to other autistic disorders
difficulties with pragmatic, or social language
a better prognosis than other Autism spectrum disorders Please read on THIS LINK more…the link will open in a new window. Click on “products” and it will take you to the music page.
Image: babyzone.com
DF Malherbe (1881-1969)
Slaap
Wat is die slaap ‘n wondersoete ding!
Sag op haar bloue oë daal die vaak
soos maneskyn diep waterkuile raak
om daar te droom in silwer skemering.
Vir laas beef oor haar lippe ‘n fluistering:
“Nag, Pappie.” Ek merk hoe langsaam hy genaak,
wat drome soet tot werklikhede maak:
in vaderarms rus my lieweling.
Sluit so my oë, God, wanneer vir my
u Engel wenk ter laaste, lange rus
en ek van wilde woeling hier moet skei;
dat my dan stille drome huis toe sus
en sterke Hand deur duisternisse lei.
Sluit so my oë, God, as ek gaan rus.
To Sleep by John Keats.
O soft embalmer of the still midnight!
Shutting, with careful fingers and benign,
Our gloom-pleas’d eyes, embower’d from the light,
Enshaded in forgetfulness divine;
O soothest Sleep! if so it please thee, close,
In midst of this thine hymn, my willing eyes.
Or wait the Amen, ere thy poppy throws
Around my bed its lulling charities;
Then save me, or the passed day will shine
Upon my pillow, breeding many woes;
Save me from curious conscience, that still hoards
Its strength for darkness, burrowing like a mole;
Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards,
And seal the hushed casket of my soul.
Sea of Dreams…Kelly King …I’ve found this book on google-books whilst searching for images and thought it might be on my list to read when I have more time…I’ve read a couple of books about wars…and for some reason I like to read about it…all part of history.
Sea of dreams by Martin Sramek
Dreams by Langston Hughes
Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.
English readers…I’ve translated the first Afrikaans poem for you…then you can slide down to read more in English…
In die Hoëveld
1. In die Hoëveld, waar dit oop is en die hemel wyd daarbo,
Waar kuddes waaigras huppel oor die veld,
Waar ’n mens nog vry kan asemhaal en aan ’n God kan glo,
Staan my huisie, wat ek moes verlaat vir geld.
En as ek in die gange van die myn hier sit en droom
Van die winde op die Hoëveld, ruim en vry,
Dan hoor ek die geklinkel van my spore, saal en toom,
Sawens as ek bees of skaap toe ry.
On the High-veld
1. In the High-veld where it’s open and heaven’s wide up there
Where herds of tall grass frisk about the veld
Where you can breath freely and believe in God
Stands my little house which I’ve left for money
And If I sit here in the tunnels of the mine, dreaming
About the High-veld wind, wide and free
Then I hear the sound of my tracks, saddle and bridle
At dusk when riding to the livestock.
image:mooikrans.co.za
2.Op die Hoëveld, waar dit wyd is, waar jy baie ver kan sien,
(Die ylblou bring ’n knop dan in jou keel)
Staan my huisie nog en wag vir my, wag al ’n jaar of tien,
Waar die bokkies op die leigrafstene speel.
Maar as die tering kwaai word en ek hoor die laaste fluit,
Dan sweef ek na die Hoëveld op die wind
Ek soek dan in die maanlig al die mooiste plekkies uit
Waar ek kleiosse gemaak het as ’n kind.
Toon van den Heever (1894-1956)
Al die gedigte wat nou volg, is NP van Wyk-Louw gedigte!
My venster is ’n blanke vlak
My venster is ’n blanke vlak
in skaduwee en skemering,
waar ek my nagte waak en wag
op magiese deursuiwering:
dat hierdie siel deursigtig word
in vreemde voorgevoelde lig,
tot kring bo kring opglans en straal
in eindelose vergesig;
dat wat ek nog verlore waan,
o my verlore dae in my,
in hierdie stille skemering
hul vorming en gestalte kry,
tot ek my eensaamheid besit,
volmaak, as kosbare gewin,
van duister wense en van smart
die uiterste deurstraalde sin.
N P van Wyk-Louw
VROEGHERFS
Die jaar word ryp in goue akker blare
in wingerd wat verbruin, en witter lug
wat daglank van die nuwe wind en klare
son deurspoel word; elke blom word vrug,
tot self die traagstes; en die eerste blare val
so stilweg in die rook-vaal bos en laan
dat die takke van die lang popliere al
teen elke ligte môre witter staan.
O Heer, laat hierdie dae heilig word:
laat alles val wat pronk en sieraad was
Of enkel jeug en vér was van die pyn;
Laat ryp word Heer, laat U wind waai, laat stort
my waan, tot al die hoogheid eindelik vas
en nakend uit my teerder jeug verskyn.
Osterley Park
Nagreën
Die reën skuifel deur die straat,
verby my venster, mensverlaat …
Soos ’n trossie narsings wat verkwyn,
flikker die druppels teen my vensterruit
waar die geel straatlig daardeur skyn;
en voel die wind
met bleek vingers, soos ’n kind,
aan die swaar gordyn, wat plooi
in die lamplig, teer en droef papawerrooi.
Image: wvs.topleftpixel.com
Grense
My naakte siel wil sonder skrome
in alle eenvoud tot jou gaan,
soos uit diepe slaap ons drome,
soos teen skemerlug die bome
opreik na die bloue maan;
gaan met al sy donker wense,
en die heilige, nooit-gehoorde
dinge sê, waarvoor die mense
huiwer, en wat om die grense
flikker van my duister woorde.
Image: astroden.com/images.htm
Voël
’n Voël vlieg voor my venster verby,
’n naalddun lyn wat daaroor gly
en die glas in twee vlakke sny;
die wêrelde val apart en bly
elk in sy enkelheid geskei –
ek hierbinne, en daarbuite hy.
Die liefde in my
Dis altyd jy, net altyd jy,
die een gedagte bly my by
soos skadu’s onder bome bly,
net altyd jy, net altyd jy.
Langs baie weë gaan my smart,
blind is my oë en verward,
is alle dinge in my hart.
Maar dit sal een en enkeld bly,
en aards en diep sy laafnis kry,
al staan dit winter, kaal in my,
die liefde in my, die liefde in my.
Nog eenmaal
Nog eenmaal wil ek in die skemeraand
weer op ons dorp en by ons dorpsdam staan,
weer met my rek op in die donker skiet,
en luister, en al word ek seer en dof,
hoe die klein klippie ver weg in die riet
uit donker in die donker water plof.
Uit Nuwe verse (1954)
Miskien sal ek die wingerd prys
en nooit meer van hom drink
en net in ’n verbeelde glas
die koel gedagte skink:
dié wat in jare donkerte
sy wynsteen kon laat sak
en niks wat somers is meer het
nie pit nie dop of rank:
miskien nog van Gods weë weet:
– Sy paaie en Sy pyn:
maar ingewikkeld alles ken
en mens wil wees én rein.
Uit Tristia (1962)
Afskeid
Jy’t weggegaan en jy bewoon
‘n silwer herberg in die sneeu
jou venster kyk nog elke nag
met drie blink oë na die plein
die plein is boom en wind en boom
en wind en wind
en wintermiddag voer daar iemand
die meeue krummels teen die wind
Uit: Tristia (1962)
English readers:This is my 1000th entry and I want to celebrate it with some beautiful poetry…in Afrikaans…but, there’s some links for you to follow…English/French and other languages…poems to enjoy. There’s a brilliant bird-site for you to enjoy…South African birds…do take a look, it’s worth visiting this site! The poems in this entry are mainly from two wonderful South African well-known poets…and poems I really love. The first poem is about the Highveld and I was 11 years of age and had to know about 4-6 poems every week… to recite on a weekly basis and some were really long…as a child you don’t always understand why you have to learn certain things in life, but now I do appreciate my Afrikaans Language teacher from Primary after all these years, of course we had to learn English poems too…but let’s leave that for later, Afrikaans is a much more beautiful language, especially when it comes to poetry!
On this link here you can read more fantastic poems in different languages…the link will open in a new window.
To see more fantastic bird pictures….please click here and the link will open in a new window. There is an English page as well as an Afrikaans page…the link will open in the English page. If you want the Afrikaans page, you will have to click on “front page”.
English Readers – This is an Afrikaans entry about stories and books – mainly for teachers and teaching. There are a few links to English books too.
As jy hier is vir die stories – die PDF dokumente is verder af in hierdie inskrywing. Hierdie bloginskrywing is van ‘n hele paar jaar gelede – en die werkskaarte – neem dit in ag, alhoewel: stories bly stories!
Nuut bygevoeg: 2020 hierdie stories is van ‘n website wat hulpmiddels vir Onderwysers maak.
Kliek HIER vir Storiewerf – ‘n website vol stories. Kliek op hierdie link waar jy Jakkals-en-Wolf Stories kan kry en ook audio-files sal kry met stories en op hierdie link gaan jy lekker Afrikaanse verhale kry. Alle links in die inskrywing maak in ‘n nuwe bladsy oop! This link has info on Dalene Matthee’s books and films. Books like Circles in the Forest, The Mulberry Forest, Fiela’s Child, etc. and on this link you can read about Alida Bothma, a book illustrator and artist. These links will open in a new window.
Ek het al ‘n paar besoekers op die blog gehad wat sekere soek-terme ingesit het wat vir my ‘n aanduiding was dat daar dalk ‘n behoefte was na werkskaarte. Ek het in SA o.a. vir Gr4-Gr6 Afrikaans onderrig – wat ek natuurlik verskriklik geniet het. Ek het later o.a. begin om my eie werkskaarte op te stel deur begripsvrae en Taalkunde-vrae. Dit is ‘n probleem met boeke wat jy koop in die handel. Daar is goeie boeke meeste van die tyd, maar ek het altyd geglo dat ek my werk beplan rondom die kinders wat voor my in die klas gesit het. Jy kan nie ‘n boek koop en net so gebruik en dink dis altyd voldoende vir die spesifieke kinders in jou klas – jy as Onderwyser moet maar gedurig aanpassings maak.
Met die werkskaarte kan jy die vragies afknip en verander volgens jou behoefte. Ek het die Word-dokumente omgeskakel in pdf, slegs omdat dit netjieser lyk. Die storie van die Reëndruppels het ek uit ‘n Daan Retief-boekie gekry met daardie titel – ‘n dierbare storie wat ek altyd met Gr3 gedoen het sodra ons by die waterkringloop gekom het. Die kinders het die storietjie baie geniet.
Hierdie pdf’s wissel vir kinders Gr3-Gr4. Selfs vir kinders in Gr 5/6/7 wat die taal as tweede taal het. Jy sal die kinders in jou klas ken en jou eie oordeel gebruik.
Verder het ek ‘n paar van my gunsteling boeke – wat natuurlik van ‘n goeie paar jaar gelede is – maar van ons top Afrikaanse skrywers/skryfsters. Dit is ook boeke wat kinders graag gelees het in die tyd wat ek in beheer was van die Mediasentrum – vir 14 jaar. My groot gunsteling skrywers/skryfsters: Dolf van Niekerk, Maretha Maartens, Elsabe Steenberg, Hester Heese, Freda Linde, W. A. Hickey – net om ‘n paar te noem!
Die Pianis
Met sensitiewe vlinder-vingers wip jou hande oor swart en wit en wit en swart raak-raak hier, rus-rus daar ‘n lange, ‘n korte ‘n agtste en die molle en kruise en linkerhandtekens, kom lê hier warm op my hart. Met solo’s en duete het jy jouself tot in my siel begelei en jy trap nou die pedale van my emosies met jou sagte-sagte voete. Met donderslae en diep akoorde speel jy jouself al dieper in my wese in, tot jy weer tikkel, tokkel flidder, fladder, iewers ver agter die Baby Grand, so ver, so onbereikbaar ver, dat jy netsowel ‘n opname kon gewees het. Oor swart en wit en wit en swart en grys het nie ‘n plek nie, en c’s en e’s en vir jou bestaan ek nie verder as g nie. maar vir my is jy alles, want jy het jouself met geoefende vingers onlosmaakbaar déél van my gemaak, jouself in my in getoonleer.
Maryke Wennick
DIE PADDA
Padda, jou grootoog ding,
Kan jy wip of kan jy spring?
O, jy kan wip,
Wip-wip tot op die klip.
Ek kan tog sing
jou skurwe ding:
Ka-tjie-rie, Ka-tjie-rie
My ouma het ‘n kie-rie,
‘n kier-rie.
Vir wat spring jy nou weg?
Jou maniere is maar sleg.
Ek praat dan nog met jou,
Ek wil net vra:
Hoeveel vratte het jou vrou?
Tot siens jou skurwe ding,
wat met jou paddaboudjies
in ons visdam spring!
Al die volgende PDF’s maak in ‘n nuwe venster oop. Sien verder in die inskrywing nog PDF’s wat bygewerk is. [opgedateer Augustus 2011 – ek wou nie die werkskaarte ‘delete’ nie en het dit goedgevind om dit ook hier te plaas en hoop iemand sal dit kan gebruik!]
Kinders sonder fantasie ontspoor later Elfra Erasmus Sy het ‘n groot droom, sê die bekroonde kinder- en jeugboekskrywer Elsabe Steenberg. ‘n Droom oor busse vol boeke wat op al die dorpe in die land aandoen en waar kinders (en grootmense), soos oorsee, boeke op straat kan koop. Elsabe se jongste publikasie, die kleuterboek Kariena Karyn, oor ‘n meisietjie wat vir die donker bang is, het pas by J.L. van Schaik-uitgewers verskyn. In die verhaal gesels Kariena met die goudvis, wat ”borrel-orrel-gorrel”, en die botterblom, wat sy stingel swaai en kraai van die lag, oor hoekom sy snags so skreeu. Die boek, wat in Engels heet Katie Colly Wobbles, is fraai geïllustreer deur Alida Bothma. Elsabe meen daar het ‘n verandering (en gelukkig ‘n verbetering) plaasgevind in die kinderboektemas oor die jare. Vroeër is ”verskriklik afgeskryf op kinders”. Die boeke het gehandel oor sake waarin grootmense geïnteresseer was. Deesdae is kinderboeke egter meer ”kindgerig”. Maar lees kinders nog? ‘n Mens bekommer jou daaroor sê sy, maar sê sy hoor bemoedigende verhale oor kinders wat nie meer as ses boeke by die biblioteek mag uitneem nie en vir wie dit ‘n allemintige probleem is dat hulle eers twee dae later weer ses mag uitneem! Om die jong TV-geslag voor die vervlietende prentjies op die stel weg te kry, is daar net een oplossing: ouers moet kinders van kleins af lief maak vir boeke. Sy het vir haar kinders begin stories lees voordat hulle twee jaar oud was en vir haar een seun bly lees totdat hy elf was, bloot omdat hy daarvan gehou het. ” ‘n Kind betree ‘n boek soos hy die wêreld betree, dit word deel van sy ervaring van die lewe.” Die skool maak nie juis in hierdie verband ‘n positiewe bydrae nie. Onderwysers is so besig om die kinders te léér dat daar nie meer tyd gemaak word sodat hulle net kan sit en lees nie. Is daar in ons moderne samelewing plek vir sprokies, of moet dit, soos in sommige kleuterskole in Pretoria, verbied word omdat dit nie die ”werklikheid” is nie? Kinders het sprokies en fantasie besonder nodig, sê sy. In sprokies is altyd ‘n element van geweld, maar dit word ”deurgewerk”. ”Elke mens het geweld of woede in sy onderbewuste wat deurgewerk moet word. Kinders moet dit van kleins af leer.” Fantasie bevat gewoonlik ‘n dieper waarheid en is nodig om ‘n kind gebalanseer groot te maak. Kinders wat daarsonder grootword, ontspoor heeltemal. Hulle ontwikkel later persoonlikheidsversteurings omdat hulle reeds te veel werklikheid moes hanteer. ” ‘n Mens kan byna sê, wat bly oor as daar nie fantasie is nie. Sonder fantasie is die lewe so eendimensioneel.” Oor of stories ‘n les moet bevat, voel sy sterk. ”Ek gril daarvoor. Stories moet ‘n kind laat groei omdat dit oorspronklik anders is. Dit moet nooit ‘n versuikerde preek wees nie. Kinders is te fyn, hulle let dit dadelik op.” Dis juis hoekom sy vir kinders skryf. Omdat hulle eerliker is as volwassenes. Soos die bekende Nederlandse kinderboek-skrywer Guus Kuijer gesê het: jy kan nie kinders bluf met literêre foefies nie. ”Die terugvoer wat ek van kinders kry, is heerlik. Omdat hulle so eerlik is, sal hulle nie aan my skryf as hulle nie werklik die boek geniet het nie.” As kenner van kinderboeke is sy bekommerd oor die toekenning van pryse vir kinder- en jeugboeke in Suid-Afrika. ”Daar moet gewerk word aan die keurders.” Kyk ‘n mens na die boeke wat bekroon word, is dit duidelik die mense wat dit beoordeel, het nie kennis van kinders nie. Sy sonder egter die die laaste paar jaar se toekenning van die Scheepers-prys uit as meer in die kol. * Dr. Elsabe Steenberg is reeds verskeie kere bekroon, onder meer met die J.P. van der Walt-prys vir Klawervyf (1975), die Sanlam-prys vir Boom bomer boomste (1980), die Tafelberg-prys vir Eendoring met lang bene (1979), Goue fluit my storie is uit (1986) en die Zoeloe-vertaling van Masilo en die monster (1991) is bekroon met Maqhawe Mkhizi-HAUM-Daan Retief-prys vir kinderliteratuur. Op skool is verskeie van haar boeke voorgeskryf, onder meer Rooi kanarie Hoepelbeen, Waar is Pappa se panfluit en Ken jy die weerligvoël. http://152.111.1.251/argief/berigte/beeld/1992/09/3/2/2.html Boekeblad Elsabé was altyd ‘n wenner Marina le Roux MISKIEN is Elsabe Steenberg in haar ryk en vol lewe nie na waarde geskat nie. Benewens kreatiewe en produktiewe skryfster was sy immers ook nog vrou en moeder, vertaler, resensent, akademikus, geliefde dosent en gewilde spreker by leeskringe en skryfskole. Maar daar was moontlik nie genoeg literêre bekronings nie. Die J.P. Van der Walt Prys twee maal, vir Klawervyf en vir Eendoring met lang Bene, die welverdiende Sanlam Prys vir Boom bomer boomste, en in 1993 die erepenning van die Akademie, het sy besonder waardeer. Maar sy het ‘n pragmatiese siening oor skryfpryse behou: “Dis so ‘n gedwonge soort ding. Wie wen, berus soms op wie die pryse toeken”, het sy by geleentheid gesê. Elsabé Steenberg was egter altyd ‘n wenner: onder haar toegewyde en getroue lesers, waaronder kleuters, kinders, tieners en volwassenes, en ‘n wenner oor die “draakstasie” in haar lewe. Nou is sy bevry van die rolstoel waarin sy die afgelope 20 jaar ‘n “vasgerankte” was. Ten spyte van die uitmergelende aanslae van veelvuldige sklerose, het sy steeds onwrikbaar geglo in die terapeutiese vennootskap met die letterkunde. Sy kon selfs met humor skryf oor haar siekte, die “gog”, die bedreigende “draakstasie” in haar outobiografiese werk Twee hang bo die Pad, vier Loop op die Mat:”Met genoegsame genade sal ek nou nie toelaat om die kern van dit wat ek is, aan te tas nie. Eerder sal jy my sterker maak, ‘n verbete vegter, ‘n dankbare mens. Maar ónderkry? O nee, onderkry sal jy my nie”. Hierdie lewensbeskouing het Elsabé Steenberg ten grondslag gelê. Sy was een van die mees prolifieke Afrikaanse skryfsters, veral dan van kinder- en jeuglektuur. As tiener het sy alreeds kortverhale gepubliseer, en haar eerste boeke het in 1968 verskyn : Die Moerasloper en Dat ek mag sien, wat vir televisie verfilm is as Sien jy nou? Sedertdien het daar ‘n wye verskeidenheid boeke, kortverhale, eenbedrywe, resensies en vaklektuur uit haar pen verskyn, vir volwassenes sowel as vir kinders Sy het egter altyd verkies om vir kinders te skryf, “omdat hulle tegelykertyd wond-baarder en oper is as grootmense én beter gewapen deur die vermoë tot verbeelding”. Die “wondbaarheid” van kinders is dan ook die herhalende tema in Steenberg se oeuvre. Gebore op Vrede, staan sy nou in die gees op Horeb, die hoogste piek van die Rooiberge by haar geliefde Clarens, en sy sien die beloofde land, sy glo en begroet dit.
In Engels…Tree more-Tree most Update: August 2011 – Opdateer: Augustus 2011 – Ek hoop dat die volgende PDF-lêers ook bruikbaar gevind sal word. Maak seker oor die Woordeboekbladsynommers in die vragies, want dit sal verseker nie dieselfde as jou klas s’n wees nie.
Eendag beland ‘n piepklein muisie in die poot van ‘n yslike groot leeu. “Ek het jou gevang, Meneer Muisie, jy is myne!” brul die yslike groot leeu.”Asseblief, Grote Leeu, Koning van die Diere, moet my nie seermaak nie. Laat my asseblief los. My kinders wag vir my en die son sak al laag. As jy my loslaat, sal ek vir jou ook eendag ‘n guns bewys”, pleit die muisie.”Jy weet”, brul die yslike, groot leeu, “ek dink nie jy sal enige nut vir my wees nie. Jy is glad te klein om vir my gunste te bewys. Maar loop maar, ek sal jou lewe spaar ter wille van jou kinders. Toe, loop nou, voor ek van plan verander.”Piepklein Muisie skarrel vinnig weg en verdwyn in die bosse.’n Paar dae later word Grote Leeu in ‘n strik gevang. Hy is vas en kan nie roer nie. Hy brul en brul, maar kan nie loskom nie. Skielik hoor hy ‘n “piep-piep” hier naby hom. Sowaar, dit is dieselfde muisie wat hy ‘n paar dae tevore gevang het.”Lê stil”, piep die muisie, “Ek sal gou-gou die toue deurknaag, dan sal jy los wees.””Ag, ou Muisie,” kla Grote Leeu moedeloos, die toue is so dik en jou tandjies is so klein. Hoe sal jy dit regkry?”Maar die muisie hou net aan met knaag en sowaar, kort voor lank is daar ‘n yslike gat waardeur Grote Leeu kan kruip.”Baie dankie, Kleine Muisie. Jy het vandag my lewe gered. Al is jy baie, baie klein, het jy my gered toe ek magteloos was. Ek is jammer dat ek gedink het dat jy te klein is om my te help. Ek sal vir jou en jou kindertjies ‘n groot geskenk gee.” Hulle was vir ewig vriende. Source: Connexions
Die Skilpad en die Haas
‘n Skilpad is ‘n dier wat baie stadig beweeg.Eendag sê die uitgeslape skilpad vir Haastige Hasie: “Ek wed jou ek sal jou wen as ons twee resies hardloop.” Die hasie kyk verbaas na skilpad en dink by homself: “Ek het seker nie reg gehoor nie. Glo hierdie trapsuutjies nou regtig hy sal my wen? Weet hy nie hoe vinnig ek kan hardloop nie? Hier is nie ‘n hond op hierdie plaaswerf wat my kan vang nie!””Nou goed”, sê Haas, “ons kan môre resies hardloop en dan kyk ons wie kom eerste by die wenstreep aan.”Die volgende oggend het al wat dier is bymekaar gekom om hierdie resies dop te hou.Skilpad en Haas staan gereed.”Op julle merke, gereed en weg is julle!” roep die olifant en hy blaas die fluitjie so hard dat dit deur die bos weergalm.Haastige Haas spring met ‘n vaart in die pad.’n Groot stofwolk agtervolg hom en hy verdwyn heeltemal daaragter.Skilpad stap maar voetjie vir voetjie aan.Hy is baie rustig en glimlag vir homself.Hasie dink toe dat hy genoeg tyd het om nou eers ‘n bietjie te rus en ‘n bietjie te eet.Hy gaan lê uitgestrek in die koelte van ‘n groot boom en begin knibbel aan die smaaklike, vars, groen grassies wat daar naby hom groei. Dit smaak heerlik, dink hy, en lê agteroor.Hy lê so lekker dat hy insluimer en vergeet van Ou Skilpad.Skilpad is bult-op en bult-af.Hy kyk nie regs nie en ook nie links nie.Hy hou net aan.Uiteindelik is hy twee tree van die wenstreep.Dis toe dat Hasie wakker skrik en onthou!Hy spring soos ‘n weerligstraal daar weg, maar te laat!Skilpad is oor die wenstreep!Al die diere juig en klap hande vir die wenner.”Jy sien”, sê Skilpad, “dit is waar wat hulle sê: HOE MEER HAAS, HOE MINDER SPOED. Jy het gedink jy is vinniger as ek en toe het jy te gerus geraak.”Skilpad stap weg met ‘n glimlag wat nou nog breër is.
English readers…scroll down to the green writing…Omtrent twee maande gelede, mag korter wees, het ‘n besoeker op my blog my ‘n booskap gelos op een van die inskrywings wat ek gemaak het oor die area waar ek groot geword het. Sy kantoor kyk uit op die “Kloof” waarvan ek geskryf het. Ek het nie op my laat wag nie en hom dadelik gekontak via email. Na die oor-en-weer nuus uitruil, besef ek dat sy ma my gr1-st1-Onderwyseres was destyds toe die plaasskooltjie nog bestaan het, voordat ons na die dorpskool moes oorskuif na die sluit van die plaasskool. Ons was natuurlik hartseer, want die plaasskooltjie was natuurlik ‘n groot bederf! Sement-swembad reg langs die skool, sop op koue dae…en ek kan nog onthou hoe ek as 5 jarige op Vrydae skooltoe gegaan het, r-gebrei het en al die groter kinders my op hul skoot geneem het en r-woorde laat sê het sodat hulle kon “oe!” en “a!” oor die “oulikgeit” daarvan! Ook het ek mooi foto’s gekry van die waterval waarheen ek (ons) so baie gestap het…die waterval was sowat 1.5-2km se stap vanaf die plaashuis op in die kloof verby ‘n paar ander plase, maar steeds deel van ons plaas. Die plaas waar ek groot geword het – ek was 5 toe ons vanaf Pretoria na die familie-plaas verhuis het – was jare terug…in my voorgeslagte…een groot plaas en toe later opverdeel. Op hierdie oomblik behoort slegs die kerkhof aan ons – en ek wil my verstout om te sê dat minerale regte ook uitgehou is. In elk geval, ek wil vir julle hierdie foto’s wys wat Christo vir my gestuur het…en dit was wonderlik om te hoor dat sy ma nog leef ook en goeie gesondheid het! Sy was ‘n dierbare onderwyseres en nog al die jare sing ek lofliedere oor haar. Al die jare het ek my tafels 100% geken…te danke aan haar in st 2! toe sy saam met ons dorpskool toe gegaan het. Ek kan ook nog onthou ons het ‘n “leeskompetisie” gehad in die dorpskool – toe ek nog omtrent st 1 was – en ons was na ‘n vertrek met omies geneem en ons moes daar stukkies voorlees…destyds het dit vir my soos die ouetehuis gevoel! lol! almal omies met brille en het so belangrik en vol wysheid gelyk! Ons het natuurlik die dorpskool uitgestof met die “kompetisie” en roomys daarna gekry…maar vandag dink ek terug en dink dit was maar seker ‘n span inspekteure wat hulle daardie tyd vermom het as die “ouetehuis-omies”..of is dit vir ons vertel om ons dalk nie op ons senuwees te maak nie…hehehe…sal graag wil weet! Hierdie foto’s het my hierdie volgende “gediggie” laat aanmekaarslaan!
English readers: These pictures are from the farm where I grew up as a child. I used to go for long walks in the mountains and you can see the waterfall too. One visitor to my blog had me very excited awhile ago when he said that his office overlooks the place where I grew up and he sent me these images! I used to spend many a day walking to the waterfall and enjoying nature! When I uploaded these images it inspired me to write a little poem and it’s here in Afrikaans…it’s all about the fantastic memories of those days in the field/mountains/nature etc. December is summer hols in South Africa and then it was the time when the extended family visited us and us kids sometimes camped at the waterfall just for fun! The bottom picture reminded me a lot about the farm when I found it last night…
Die holtes van my gedagtes As kind het ek
die punte van my siel
laat ploeg in die akkers
waar mensestemme
voorheen opgeklink het
Skrams het ek gevoel
hoe die tuimelende bergstilte
‘n deursigtige telegram
van vrede laat deursypel
na die binnekamers van my hart
Die diggeweefde bergstilte het
spatsels waterdruppels moeiteloos
in my gemoed afgeprent
en ek smag na die
holtes van my gedagtes
Vroeër vanjaar het ek die gedig geplaas met ‘n waterval-foto wat my laat dink het aan die een op hierdie foto…in hierdie gediggie het ek verwys na die waterval…en die rante…nou sien julle presies waarna ek verwys het!
Suid-Afrika – my skaduwee
In die skadu’s
van die groot ou Eik
stoot ek weer in die sand
Boeta se karretjies een-vir-een
‘is verstommend hoe die mierleeus uit hul tonnels
krioel met kierang-hier en kierang-daar
Langs die waterval
sit ek, halfbewus
my gedagtes vind perspektiwiteit
en rol ragfyn ligstraaltjies voor my uit
op die kabbellende water
Op die meulwiel van vervloë
versamel ek babakatjies
pas gebo’, versteek
teen elemente daar buit’
en ek streel die sagtheid
wat ek koester
verder op my reis
Ek verdwaal tussen rante
soekend na onweerstaanbare
toktokkies en miskruiers
‘k neem ‘n honger teug
uit die kom van fluisteringe
“ons-vir-jou-ons-vir-jou”
Hoe sal ek jou kan vergeet
jou alledaagse ontwykende
en eindlose horison
onwetend
bly jy daar vir my
en ek vir jou
Hoe kán ek dan
Vergeet van: “ons-vir-jou”…?
En hier is die eintlike waterval [vol-foto] deur Francois vdM aangestuur na my in Junie 2011. [Dankie Francois] – hy is ‘n groot pêl van Christo – hierbo genoem.
Hierdie volgende liedjie het in my gedagtes opgekom en ek weet nie eens of ek hom korrek het nie, dus, enige hulp sal waardeer word indien ek moet korrigeer!
Die berge, bome, blomme
Die berge, blomme, bome
Die helder water strome
Hul wink ons van daar ver (2x)
Ons sing en klap die hande
Ons klim en stap die rante
Uit pure lewenslus! (2x)
tra-lie-trala, tra-lie-trala… uit pure lewenslus, uit pure lewenslus!(2x)
Ek het geen idee of dit die hele liedjie is, ek het net dink hy pas so goed hierby toe hy in my gedagtes opskiet! dus…help asseblief…of sê my as dit reg is!
A couple of days ago, he asked me to translate this poem: “I am an African” into Afrikaans and I felt it was an honour to be asked by him to do it. I’ve tried my best, as all my Afrikaans-bloggers know I’m no expert in translations, but I do try to convey the “message” of the poem, but sometimes, specially when not asked to do a translation, I might want to change the poem slightly to what I like, although I will keep the overall “message”, like the poem written by Wordsworth…”I wandered lonely like a cloud.” Wayne also understands Afrikaans. He liked my interpretation of Wordsworth’s poem and I felt happy that a professional poet could also view his opinion, as you would agree that you sometimes don’t know really if you do any poem justice by translating it. I’ve done some translations from Afrikaans to English too and if you want to read some poems of some of South Africa’s best poets…you can click on the page that says…”my poems-gedigte” and read a few there. You will find Eugene Marais’s poem…”The dance of the rain” and Totius’s poem…”oh the painful thought..” and some others too. I do like to write my own too, which you will find on that page too. I want to stress it out …that I’m no professional, so enjoy whatever you find here and there’s always poetry sites where you can find poems written by professionals! Today, Sunday 7th Sept 2008, I had two people putting in “Is Wayne Visser an Afrikaans writer” in a search and were directed to my blog…as far as I could see, he doesn’t write in Afrikaans, I couldn’t find any of his poems or works in Afrikaans, but he does understand the Language…he speaks Afrikaans too. I do hope this helps, you can contact him via his website address…link at the bottom of this post – and email him!
Image: DK-images…Langebaan, Cape Town
Ek is van Afrika
Ek is van Afrika
Nie omdat ek daar gebore is
Maar omdat my hart met Afrika klop
Ek is van Afrika
Nie omdat my gelaat donker is
Maar omdat Afrika my gedagtes omgrens
Ek is van Afrika
Nie omdat ek van haar leef
Maar omdat my siel tuis is – in Afrika
Wanneer Afrika oor haar kinders ween
Is my wange deur traandruppels deurweek
Wanneer Afrika haar voorvaders eer
Buig my hoof in respek daarheen
Wanneer Afrika oor haar slagoffers rou
Is my hande in gebed gevou
Wanneer Afrika haar oorwinnings vier
Dans ek op die maat van die oorwinningslied
Ek is van Afrika
Met haar asemrowende ylblou lugruimtes
Laat sy die toekoms skitterend skyn
Ek is van Afrika
Waar ek gegroet word asof familie
En ek ervaar die gevoel van meervoudig
Ek is van Afrika
Want haar wildheid bring vertroosting vir my siel
En bring my nader na die bron van Lewe
Wanneer Afrika-musiek in die wind weerklink
Volg my polsslag die ritmiese klop
En word ek een met die klank
Wanneer die Afrika-kleure in die son glinster
Verdrink my sintuie in haar reënboog
En is ek die natuur se pallet
Wanneer die Afrika-verhale om die vure op-klink
Volg my voete hul tydlose ‘wink
En is ek die spore van die verle’
Ek is van Afrika
Want sy’s die krip van geboorte
En troetel die oer-oue wysheid
Ek is van Afrika
Want sy leef in die skadu van die wêreld
En brand met ‘n gloeiende inspirasie
Ek is van Afrika
Want sy is die land van môre
En ek eer haar tydlose geskenke
I am an African
Not because I was born there
But because my heart beats with Africa’s
I am an African
Not because my skin is black
But because my mind is engaged by Africa
I am an African
Not because I live on its soil
But because my soul is at home in Africa
When Africa weeps for her children
My cheeks are stained with tears
When Africa honours her elders
My head is bowed in respect
When Africa mourns for her victims
My hands are joined in prayer
When Africa celebrates her triumphs
My feet are alive with dancing
I am an African
For her blue skies take my breath away
And my hope for the future is bright
I am an African
For her people greet me as family
And teach me the meaning of community
I am an African
For her wildness quenches my spirit
And brings me closer to the source of life
When the music of Africa beats in the wind
My blood pulses to its rhythm
And I become the essence of sound
When the colours of Africa dazzle in the sun
My senses drink in its rainbow
And I become the palette of nature
When the stories of Africa echo round the fire
My feet walk in its pathways
And I become the footprints of history
I am an African
Because she is the cradle of our birth
And nurtures an ancient wisdom
I am an African
Because she lives in the world’s shadow
And bursts with a radiant luminosity
I am an African
Because she is the land of tomorrow
And I recognise her gifts as sacred
In South Africa, today it’s the first day of Spring! Everybody in South Africa…ENJOY SPRING!! I’ve got a couple of our wonderful poems that can be sung too and they’re all about Spring…there’s many more, but these are some of my favourites. I’ve got the audio file of the last one (instrumental only) and I hope you enjoy it!
DIS HEERLIKE LENTE
Woorde: THEO W. JANDRELL en G.G. CILLIÉ
Musiek: Wysie uit die Alpe; verwerk: G.G. CILLIÉ
Dis heerlike lente, die winter’s verby;
weer nooi berg’ en klowe vir jou en vir my.
Hol-la-dri-o-ha, hol-la-dri-o. Hol-la-dri-o-ha, hol-la-dri-o!
Die bergklim is heerlik, dit hou mens gesond.
Woorde: C. LOUIS LEIPOLDT
Musiek: J. WEBER; verwerk: PIETER DE VILLIERS
Al die veld is vrolik; al die voëltjies sing;
al die kriekies kriek daarbuit’; elke sprinkaan spring.
Al die koggelmannetjies kom om fees te vier;
hier galop ‘n goggatjie, daarso dans ‘n mier.
[KOOR]
Nou gaan die kinders draai, nou gaan hul speel!
Kom Sus, gee handjie! Almal moet draai!
Boet gee ook handjie! Nou gaan ons swaai–
dis tog so prettig! Wie dans met my?
Al in die rondte, vrolik en bly!
Kom Sus, gee handjie! Almal moet draai!
Boet gee ook handjie! Nou gaan ons swaai–
dis tog so prettig! Wie dans met my?
Al in die rondte, vrolik en bly!
Selfs die vissies spartel teen die kafferskuil;
in die groot ou eikeboom droom ‘n oupa-uil.
Oral in Karooland is ‘n ruik versprei:
boegoeblom en appelkoos–kan jy beter kry?
[KOOR]
Nou gaan die kinders draai, nou gaan hul speel!
Kom Sus, gee handjie! Almal moet draai!
Boet gee ook handjie! Nou gaan ons swaai–
dis tog so prettig! Wie dans met my?
Al in die rondte, vrolik en bly!
Kom Sus, gee handjie! Almal moet draai!
Boet gee ook handjie! Nou gaan ons swaai–
dis tog so prettig! Wie dans met my?
Al in die rondte, vrolik en bly!
Bind vir my tesame katjiepiering wit,
bobbejaantjies blou en bont, rose in gelid,
varings van die klippe, oral, ai só mooi,
rooi kalkoentjies uit die vlei–blomme uitgestrooi.
[KOOR]
Nou gaan die kinders draai, nou gaan hul speel!
Kom Sus, gee handjie! Almal moet draai!
Boet gee ook handjie! Nou gaan ons swaai–
dis tog so prettig! Wie dans met my?
Al in die rondte, vrolik en bly!
Kom Sus, gee handjie! Almal moet draai!
Boet gee ook handjie! Nou gaan ons swaai–
dis tog so prettig! Wie dans met my?
Al in die rondte, vrolik en bly!
Vrolik is die wêreld, vrolik rant en vlei!
Elke koggelmannetjie het sy maat gekry.
Elke gons’rig’ goggatjie is getroud of vry:
vrolik is die wêreld hier, vrolik veld en vlei!
[KOOR]
Nou gaan die kinders draai, nou gaan hul speel!
Kom Sus, gee handjie! Almal moet draai!
Boet gee ook handjie! Nou gaan ons swaai–
dis tog so prettig! Wie dans met my?
Al in die rondte, vrolik en bly!
Kom Sus, gee handjie! Almal moet draai!
Boet gee ook handjie! Nou gaan ons swaai–
dis tog so prettig! Wie dans met my?
Al in die rondte, vrolik en bly!
KYK, DIS SEPTEMBER WEER
Woorde: C.G.S. DE VILLIERS
Musiek: Italiaanse melodie; verwerk: CHRIS LAMPRECHT
[2x]
Kyk, dis September weer; laat al die vure brand!
Dan hou ons weer ‘n keer braaivleis doer by die strand.
[REFREIN] Laat alle boeke tuis, laat sorge agterbly;
Jeug en lentetyd gaan snel verby, ja, hulle gaan verby.
Laat alle boeke tuis, laat sorge agterbly;
Jeug en lentetyd gaan snel verby, gaan snel verby.
[2x]
Lente is oral weer, blou branders aan die strand,
velde vol blommefleur; knoop nou die liefdesband.
[REFREIN]
Laat alle boeke tuis, laat sorge agterbly;
Jeug en lentetyd gaan snel verby, ja, hulle gaan verby.
Laat alle boeke tuis, laat sorge agterbly;
Jeug en lentetyd gaan snel verby, gaan snel verby.
Meer Volksliedere wat jy kan aflaai op hierdie link! Kliek op die musieknoot vir die musiek en op die liedjie-naam vir die woorde. Dit is almal midi-leêrs wat jy lag-lag kan omskakel in ‘n MP3! en ek plaas nog ‘n gedig van Leipoldt…wat ek op Laerskool moes leer! Pragtige gedig…Die Beste!
update: 1/9/2013 – Gelukkig het blerkas net geskuif na ‘n nuwe link, die ou link het ‘verdwyn’.
Geil lusern in die laagste landjie,
geil groen blare en blomme blou;
aalwyn rooi op die voorste randjie,
rooi soos bloed teen die rotse grou;
somer en son en saffier daarbowe,
ruik van die keurbos rondgesprei;
kort klein skaduwees oor die klowe;
somer en son en saffier vir my !
Wonder van kleure uitgesprei –
wat is daar meer die dood te rowe ?
Somer en son en saffier vir my !
English readers: you can find my translation of this first poem on “My Poems-gedigte” page on top of my blog. I hope you will enjoy it.
EENSAAMHEID – JAN F.E. CELLIERS
My vuurtjie en ek is op wag –
my vuurtjie en ek alleen;
die awend-ster
wink al van ver,
en die velde slaap omheen.
En stadigies sterwe die dag,
soos een in sy armoed verlaat,
ongesien, ongeag,
sonder suggie of lag,
waar niemand van weet of van praat.
Nou bly die lug alom
in stil aanbidding staan –
geen tampende bel
wat die ure tel:
net die sterre wat kom en gaan.
Die osse, met koppe gebuie,
herkoue nog stil in die nag,
tot één vir één buk
en gaan lê by sy juk,
met `n sug, ná die trek van die dag.
My vuurtjie is al wat nog leef
in die eindeloos ruim met my,
en sy stemmetjie dwaal
soos `n deuntjie wat draal
om dae lank verby,
om jonkheids blye môre
en laggies lank verlewe.
Dan voel ek `n traan
in my oë staan
en ek fluister: “Heer, vergewe!”
Die slapende velde lê wyd,
en wyer die donker see,
wat my vuurtjie en my
vanawend skei
van die wêreld se vreug en wee;
ek weet daar`s fees vanaand
in menig verligte saal,
maar geeneen wat my mis
by die dans en die dis –
`n balling vergeet en verdwaal.
Maar al is ek, ver van die skaar,
in eensaamheids wonings getrede,
ek voel my soos een
met die Heer alleen –
`n kind aan Sy boesem tevrede.
image: digitalcameraclub.co.za
I’ve read something this morning on Zee’s blog that reminded me about this poem : “Eensaamheid” by Jan F E Celliers I also came accross this poem on a website and it also reminded me about this very same poem! “Eensaamheid” means…”loneliness…or…solitude…”
Ver op hoë berge
Pagina: 431/431
Ver op hoë berge, o-o-o…
Sit ek eensaam in die nag,
by my vuurtjie stil op wag,
ver op hoë berge.
‘k Denk nou kom my liefste, o-o-o…
k’ Sie van verre kom die wa,
die my liefste skat daar dra,
ver op hoë berge.
Read on WIKIPEDIAmore about him.
Kliek HIER vir meer gedigte deur Celliers… Enjoy the music of Sweet People …terwyl jy “Eensaamheid” lees
On THIS LINK –on my blog- you can read two poems of Jan FE Celliers.
Afrikaanse kindergedig!
Digter? Wie kan help? Titel? Daar stap ‘n klein mannetjie
In die rigting van die klotsende waterstroompie
Hy het ‘n emmer in sy handjie
En jy hoor net:die suisende windjie!
Hy stap, voete slepend
Hy stap, tande knersend
Hy draf, voete knarsend
Hy draf, hande swaaiend
Oppad hoor hy ‘n kwetterende voëltjie
Hy val skielik: kaplaks!
Daar lê hy onderstebo op die bruggie
“Ai”, sê hy, “dis seer”, vervlaks!
Nou loop ons klein ou mannetjie
Baie stadig, hy sien hy ‘n bobbejaan
Wat al blaffend en al strompelend
KADOEF! en PARDOEF!
Teen ‘n boomstomp kom gejaa’n
Die kabbellende rivierstroompie
Stroom al jubelend oor die klippies
Daarnaas is ‘n verdwaalde lam
Hy blêr! Ai tog! Dis ‘n ram!
Oppad terug stap die mannetjie
Met sy kleine, swaaiende kannetjie
Geluidloos deur die woud heen en weer
Wat het geword van die brullende
En krakende donderweer?
Ek weet! Die sissende slange
En kwakende padda
Het almal op skrik gejaag
KABOEM! Daar blits hy
SJADOEF! Daar flits hy
Ek sak my hoof en oordink my vreugde
Ligsinnig verkrummel ek
die verdroogde blare
in my Afrika hand en ‘k laat
dit waai soos kaf in die wind
Dit smee my gedagtes mee
met die onrus in my hart
wat bly groei en bloei
Waarom verpletter ons die volke
van hierdie aarde?
Waar’s die regeerders
van hierdie wêreld?
Ken hul nie Sy toorn?
Offers bring en oë opslaan
uitroepe van “wees ons goedgesind!”
weerklink in my smekende gedagtes
Sal ons ooit die Tempel binnegaan?
Ek luister na my gedagtes in die mÔre
en laat die moordenaars en leuenaars
deur Hades swerwend dryf
hul ontmoet die gelag van Charon op Styx
Nooit sal hul die Elisiese veld bereik
NÓg betowerend; nÓg kan in delf
Hul egosentriese voorland:
Tanatos!
Sál hul ag slaan op my geroep?
Please click here for theRIVER STYX and have fun! This poem…which I feel is basically just a few of my thoughts of how I feel about -not only about these killings/stabbings in London,- but also about other parts of the world, especially South Africa…Zimbabwe…the lies of Mugabe and his scum…. and other leaders in this world…my thoughts make them rambling/drifting along the river Styx, not to reach the Elysian fields, but Thanatos! By this poem I don’t want those people to really die! as I think all people are good, but not what they do/say and then I ask too…where are the leaders of this world!!…maybe the real leaders…and not the cowards.. Why are they not acting like they should, tighten the laws! and world leaders should take the lead in those Africa countries where there are chaos and where people are dying on a daily basis! Are we not suppose to care! So, co’mon “caring” leaders… show you really care! …PS: glad to see David Miliband – with his visit to South Africa – is asking the International Community to do something…but, hey…when are we going to see them reacting!
Hierdie getal het my koue rillings gegee toe ek dit vanaand sien…….net gedag dit pas by hierdie onaardse images hier…hehehe….dis nou vanaf Nov 2007… Afrikaans Afrikaanse gedigte Afrikaans poems Gedigte
The soothing twilight of my mind Self-evidently frolicand sprightly Your little shadow gradually quivering – as a flakelet – endless peals of laughter vibrating in my mind and the reflection is inevitably intertwined between Haydn and Wagner and the whirlpool of my ancient thoughts flowing through the soothing twilight of my mind –Translated: Nikita – 16/2/2012
[For a friend to understand the Afrikaans]
This poem is just a poem about my thoughts going back to South Africa and my childhood days – also on the farm where I grew up. My country and its people will always be in my thoughts!
Please click HEREto read the book Thought-Forms by: Annie Besant and C.W. Leadbeater on the site of the Gutenberg-project. In this book you will read about colour and thoughts.
Enjoy the music of Haydn…Piano concerto in D major – one of my favourites!
Haydn by Thomas Hardy
Source: wikimedia Franz Joseph Haydn ==March 31, 1732 – May 31, 1809== was one of the most prominent composers of the classical period, and is called by some the “Father of the Symphony” and “Father of the String Quartet”.
A life-long resident of Austria, Haydn spent most of his career as a court musician for the wealthy Hungarian Esterházy family on their remote estate. Isolated from other composers and trends in music until the later part of his long life, he was, as he put it, “forced to become original”.
Joseph Haydn was the brother of Michael Haydn, himself a highly regarded composer, and Johann Evangelist Haydn, a tenor.
Die verlange na Suid-Afrika bly daar vir enige persoon in die buiteland. Iemand moet nie vir my vertel dat hy die stof van sy voete afgeskud het en nou “klaar” is met SA nie, daardie persoon bluf homself, beslis nie vir my nie. Vanaand was ek – soos baie ander tye – weer hart en siel in Suid-Afrika…geniet hierdie stukkie “gedagtes” of herinneringe wat ek hier saamgeflans het…en geniet dit met die musiek van Hilary Stagg…
I’ve got this CD of Hilary Stagg…beautiful music…enjoy this track and do get yourself this CD!!
This is an Afrikaans poem, just my thoughts about life as a child…
Indien jy ooit by die Opelug Museum in Pretoria ‘n draai maak, maak gerus ‘n draai by die Watermeule. Hierdie watermeule het op ons plaas gestaan en is hy klip-vir-klip gemerk en net so herbou in Pretoria. As kind van ongeveer 7/8 jaar oud, het ons gedurig op die wiel gespeel en was dit ‘n heerlike wegkruipplek vir die kat om haar kleintjies te kry!! Daarom dat my gedagtes ook in hierdie gegriffel ‘n draai gaan maak het op die watermeul se wiel! Ek kon vir ure die miskuiers volg wat in veld hulle bolletjies gerol het…wanneer ek gaan stap het om verdroogde stukkies takkies te versamel en grassade vir my versameling wat ek gedurig in my kamer uitgestal het…die gedrooge takkies…spesiale mooi uitgesoektes natuurlik, het ek in gebruik in rangskikkings en was my kamer omtrent ‘n “nes” van alles wat ek van die veld aangedra het. Selfs verdwaalde tarentaal-vere het hul ere-plekkie gehad…en hoe kon ek die karretjies uitlaat, dit het ek meer gespeel as met my poppe wat altyd net op my bed gelê vir die mooiheid…
Baie dankie aan Francois vdM wat vandag [18/6/2011] hierdie pragtige foto van my geliefde waterval op ons familieplaas – waar ek ure kon sit en ontspan, rondklouter en saam met familie/vriende geniet het, aangestuur het. Francois bly ook in die omgewing en ken dit ook alte goed. In die volgende gedig lees jy juis van die waterval!
Suid-Afrika – my skaduwee
In die skadu’s
van die groot ou Eik
stoot ek weer in die sand
Boeta se karretjies een-vir-een
‘is verstommend hoe die mierleeus uit hul tonnels
krioel met kierang-hier en kierang-daar
Langs die waterval
sit ek, halfbewus
my gedagtes vind perspektiwiteit
en rol ragfyn ligstraaltjies voor my uit
op die kabbellende water
Op die meulwiel van vervloë
versamel ek babakatjies
pas gebo’, versteek
teen elemente daar buit’
en ek streel die sagtheid
wat ek koester
verder op my reis
Ek verdwaal tussen rante
soekend na onweerstaanbare
toktokkies en miskruiers
‘k neem ‘n honger teug
uit die kom van fluisteringe
“ons-vir-jou-ons-vir-jou”
Hoe sal ek jou kan vergeet
jou alledaagse ontwykende
en eindlose horison
onwetend
bly jy daar vir my
en ek vir jou
Hoe kán ek dan
Vergeet van: “ons-vir-jou”…?
English readers… I translated an English poem wich I posted 2 days ago…”I know a place”…by Wayne Visser…in Afrikaans…you can read the poem at the bottom of this post in English. One Afrikaans-blogger has asked me for a translation as he’s thought that this poem would be fantastic in Afrikaans too….and I would like to agree with him, although Wayne’s poem is already a very good poem to describe your feelings/places about Africa and I believe only a person who knows Africa can describe it the way Wayne has done. I’ve sent him an email to respond on the translation I’ve done and he has responded…you can read his comments…he also responded in Afrikaans, saying that Afrikaans is a beautiful language for poetry…which I’ve said many times to my chess player friends…I do love English poetry too, but my favourite poems are without doubt the Afrikaans poems….not because it’s my mother tongue, but for the reason that Afrikaans is such a rich language and you can play with words a lot more than the English language.
As a native-speaking English person I know how much Afrikaans people are constantly ripped off by the English. Having a completely mixed up family I am also lucky to be completely bilingual. This all means that i have the best of both worlds, which I would like to share a bit of.
Afrikaans is an extremely expressive and descriptive language with words that can’t even possibly be translated into English…This is what meggwilson says on HER BLOG here…
Visit Wayne’s website HERE to read his English poems…
Nadat ek Wayne se gedig geplaas het, het Bib my gevra vir ‘n vertaling en gedink dat dit net so mooi gedig in Afrikaans kan wees. Wel, ek het probeer en ek glo ek sal nog oor die volgende paar dae “werk”/skaaf aan wat ek nou hier plaas. Ek het geen idee of Wayne Afrikaans magtig is nie en sal graag wou hê hy moet self ook ‘n vertaling doen, sou hy Afrikaanssprekend ook wees…ek het hom nou gekontak per email en hom gevra vir sy kommentaar …laat ons sien of hy gaan reageer… nuusberig…nuusberig…nuusberig…Wayne het ‘n boodskap gelos oor die plasing van sy gedig, jy kan dit in die “kommentaar-blok” lees…
Ek weet van ‘n plek in Afrika
Ek weet van ‘n plek in Afrika
Waar ek die son op my rug voel skyn
En die sand tussen my tone speel
Waar ek die seemeeu op die windjie hoor
En golwe op eindlose strande breek
Ek weet van ‘n plek in Afrika
Waar die berge die blou lug ontmoet
En valleie die groen wingerde huisves
Waar bome hul pers kleed sprei
En die bosveld sy room kleed dra
Ek weet van ‘n plek in Afrika
Waar die dondergode hul stemme laat hoor
En sien ek hul weerligspiese neerdaal
Waar ek die reuk van reenwolke intrek
En die soet van die stowwerige doudruppels proe
Dis ‘n wildernis, die plek
Van Evolusie en dinosorusse
Waar lewe begin het, hier was die eerste mens
Van lewende fossiele en olifante
Waar leeus brul en springboktroppe spring
Dis die plek van swaarkry
Van woestyne en doringbome
Waar paaie doodloop en jagters jag
Van horisonne en grense
Waar reise begin en sonsondergange bloei
Dis die plek van vryheid
Van ontdekkings en pioniers
Waar donkerte geskuil – en die lig deurgebreek het
Van ware legendes en wonderwerke
Waar dagbreek begin en hoop helder brand
My hart is tuis in Afrika
Waar die tromme se ritme in my klop
En tydlose liedere in my ore sing
Waar die reenboogmis in my oë skyn
En vriende se glimlagte my welkom heet
My gedagtes ontspan in Afrika
Waar die mense na aan die aarde leef
En seisoene die veranderde gemoed aandui
Waar besige markte handel dryf
En die Skepping sy stadige gang steeds gaan
My siel is gelukkig in Afrika
Haar strome bring lewe in my are
Haar winde bring genesing vir my drome
Wanneer haar verhaal vertel is
Verenig dit ons in ons noodlot.
I know a place in Africa…
Inspiring poetry written by Wayne Visser,
a South African currently based in Nottingham, UK.
I know a place in Africa
Where I can feel the sun on my back
And the sand between my barefoot toes
Where I can hear the gulls on the breeze
And the waves crash on the endless shore
I know a place in Africa
Where the mountains touch the skies of blue
And the valleys shelter vines of green
Where the trees spread out a cloth of mauve
And the bushveld wears a coat of beige
I know a place in Africa
Where I can hear the voice of thunder gods
And watch their lightening spears thrown to earth
Where I can breathe the scent of rain clouds
And taste the sweet dew of dusty drops
This is the place of wildness
Of evolution and dinosaurs
Where life began and mankind first stood
Of living fossils and elephants
Where lions roar and springbok herds leap
This is the place of struggle
Of desert plains and thorn trees
Where pathways end and hunters track game
Of horizons and frontiers
Where journeys start and sunsets bleed red
This is the place of freedom
Of exploration and pioneers
Where darkness loomed and light saw us through
Of living legends and miracles
Where daybreak came and hope now shines bright
My heart is at home in Africa
Where the sound of drums beat in my chest
And the songs of time ring in my ears
Where the rainbow mist glows in my eyes
And the smiles of friends make me welcome
My mind is at ease in Africa
Where the people still live close to the soil
And the seasons mark my changing moods
Where the markets hustle with trading
And Creation keeps its own slow time
My soul is at peace in Africa
For her streams bring lifeblood to my veins
And her winds bring healing to my dreams
For when the tale of this land is told
Her destiny and mine are as one
This pic is from the BBC’s website, taken near Harrismith, South Africa
When I was at Primary School I had to know this poem. I’ve translated this poem as I’ve thought it’s just a brilliant poem to be shared and enjoyed by English readers too. Update 2011: I was lucky that this translation was chosen as part of a Reading Series in South Africa. I’ve just received my booklet from the publishers in South Afria. The series: Enchanted Stone Series – Wonderful Verses by F. Viljoen & L. Southey. The book is a Reader 3 Level 6-book.
This is my translation of the poem…”Dans van die reen”
‘n Vriendelike versoek: Indien jy van my vertaling van die gedig hou, kan jy asseblief ook so gaaf en vriendelik wees en die Kopiereg-reel gehoorsaam en erkenning gee aan die vertaler van die gedig? Baie dankie, ek sal dit waardeer. Ek het die moeite aangegaan om die gedig te vertaal en dink darem dat dit net goeie maniere is om ook erkenning te gee waar nodig.
English readers: If you enjoy this translation of my poem and you would like to use it on your site – or somewhere else: It’s just good manners and being polite to acknowledge the person who translated the poem! There is the law of copyright and I think we should all obey it. Nikita is my nickname I use for the blog, my own Afrikaans poems and poems I translate. Thank you for your consideration.
The Dance of the Rain
Song of the violinist: Jan Konterdans
translated by:Nikita
DIE DANS VAN DIE REËN – Eugene Marais
Lied van die vioolspeler. Jan Konterdans.
Uit die Groot Woestyn
O die dans van ons Suster!
Eers oor die bergtop loer sy skelm,
en haar oge is skaam;
en sy lag saggies.
En van ver af wink sy met die een hand;
haar armbande blink en haar krale skitter;
saggies roep sy.
Sy vertel die winde van die dans
en sy nooi hulle uit, want die werf is wyd en die bruilof groot.
Die grootwild jaag uit die vlakte,
hulle dam op die bulttop,
wyd rek hulle die neusgate
en hulle sluk die wind;
en hulle buk, om haar fyn spore op die sand te sien.
Die kleinvolk diep onder die grond hoor die sleep van haar voete,
en hulle kruip nader en sing saggies:
“Ons Suster! Ons Suster! Jy het gekom! Jy het gekom!”
En haar krale skud,
en haar koperringe blink in die wegraak van die son.
Op haar voorkop is die vuurpluim van die berggier;
sy trap af van die hoogte;
sy sprei die vaalkaros met altwee arms uit;
die asem van die wind raak weg.
O, die dans van ons Suster!
[Uit: Versamelde gedigte – Eugene Marais]
On THIS LINKyou can read more about him and read one of his books online…”The Soul of the White Ant”… a study of termites…
Read HEREon BBC about the death of the rain queen in 2005. She was the sixth rain queen…Makobo Modjadji, the rain queen of the Balobedu people. And…THISis the “valley” of the rain queen.
Rain Queen Modjaji
More about the Rain Queens on this link…..Please click HEREto read more and to see whereabouts the Rain Queen lives!
Visitors to the area always brought Modjadji gifts and tribute, including cattle and their daughters as wives, to appease her so that she would bring rain to their regions. The custom is allied to an emphasis on fertility of the land and the population. The name Lobedu is thought to derive from the practice, referring to the daughters or sisters who were lost to their families. The Rain Queen extends her influence through her wives, because they link her politically to other families or villages. Her status as marrying women does not appear to indicate lesbianism, but rather the queen’s unique ability to control others. During the Mfecane, which took place in the early 19th century, Modjadji moved her tribe further south into the fertile Molototsi Valley, where they founded the present day Kingdom In South Africa they sell these little African dolls and I love them.I want to call this doll my little “rain queen.” Read on THIS LINK about the Balobedu people.
Beautiful song! called the “Rain Dance”.- by Adiemus
This song’s title is also called…”Rain Dance”-by Michael Chapdelaine
Image…Wikipedia Click HEREon this post to read my translation of his poem “Dans van die reën” in English…The link will open in a new window. “The Dance of the rain”…and you can read about this book on the link too.
“EUGÈNE Marais was a South African poet, a story-teller, a journalist, a lawyer, a psychologist, a natural scientist, a drug-addict, and a great genius — an abused and forgotten genius, and the world is the worse off for that.” Read “Soul of the Ant”HERE online.
Eugene Marais was one of South Africa’s more talented writers/poets. I love his poems although I haven’t read his books. I borrowed “The Soul of the Ant” one day – when I was at Primary – but I guess I was too young to read such a book, so I didn’t finish it and read only the first few pages. Some of his poems is about nature like the ‘Winter’s Night’ (translated in English here) and the “Dans van die reën” which is -translated: ‘Dance of the rain.‘ In this poem, he describes the animals’ reaction when the rain is on its way and he describes the rain and her ‘dance.‘ Marais is just brilliant in the way he played with words/metaphors etc. Sadly, he committed suicide in 1936. ReadHEREon Wiki more about him. The link will open in a new window. On the bottom of this post you will find a link to a post on my blog – in English – about Eugene Marais…he was a naturalist, scientist, writer and poet. He made a study of ants and you can see the book he wrote “The soul of the Ant” on that link…and his other book…”The soul of the Ape”… Author: Julee Dickerson Thompson
ISBN: 865432597
Binding: Paperback
Publisher: Africa World Press (March 1997)
The following translation of Marais’ “Winternag” is by J. W. Marchant:
“Winter’s Night”
O the small wind is frigid and spare
and bright in the dim light and bare
as wide as God’s merciful boon
the veld lies in starlight and gloom
and on the high lands
spread through burnt bands
the grass-seed, astir, is like beckoning hands.
O East-wind gives mournful measure to song
Like the lilt of a lovelorn lass who’s been wronged
In every grass fold
bright dewdrop takes hold
and promptly pales to frost in the cold!
Eguene N Marais WINTERNAG
by Eugene Marais
O koud is die windjie
en skraal.
En blink in die dof-lig
en kaal,
so wyd as die Heer se genade,
le die velde in sterlig en skade
En hoog in die rande,
versprei in die brande,
is die grassaad aan roere
soos winkende hande.
O treurig die wysie
op die ooswind se maat,
soos die lied van ‘n meisie
in haar liefde verlaat.
In elk’ grashalm se vou
blink ‘n druppel van dou,
en vinnig verbleek dit
tot ryp in die kou!
DIE DANS VAN DIE REËN – Eugene Marais Lied van die vioolspeler. Jan Konterdans.
Uit die Groot Woestyn
O die dans van ons Suster!
Eers oor die bergtop loer sy skelm,
en haar oge is skaam;
en sy lag saggies.
En van ver af wink sy met die een hand;
haar armbande blink en haar krale skitter;
saggies roep sy.
Sy vertel die winde van die dans
en sy nooi hulle uit, want die werf is wyd en die bruilof groot.
Die grootwild jaag uit die vlakte,
hulle dam op die bulttop,
wyd rek hulle die neusgate
en hulle sluk die wind;
en hulle buk, om haar fyn spore op die sand te sien.
Die kleinvolk diep onder die grond hoor die sleep van haar voete,
en hulle kruip nader en sing saggies:
“Ons Suster! Ons Suster! Jy het gekom! Jy het gekom!”
En haar krale skud,
en haar koperringe blink in die wegraak van die son.
Op haar voorkop is die vuurpluim van die berggier;
sy trap af van die hoogte;
sy sprei die vaalkaros met altwee arms uit;
die asem van die wind raak weg.
O, die dans van ons Suster!
[Uit: Versamelde gedigte – Eugene Marais] Read on THIS LINK on my blog more about Eugene Marais…Article in English…The link will open in a new window.
I don’t know Laurinda Hofmeyr’s music, but she’s got an album with the song…”Dans van die reen”. I hope one of my blogger-visitors from SA would be able to tell me more…
Snitte:
1. Lied van die bruidegom – Johan Myburg
2. 26 November 1975 – Breyten Breytenbach
3. Op reis na die Suide – Breyten breytenbach
4. Inbrand – Breyten Breytenbach
5. Die dans van die reën – Eugène N. Marais
6. Kind – Rabindranath Tagore
7. Ek sal sterf en na my vader gaan – Breyten Breytenbach
8. ‘n Halwe engel – Breyten Breytenbach
9. Last grave at Dimbaza – Fanie Olivier
10. Die reis – Breyten Breytenbach
11. Lied van die bruidegom (improvisasie)
All links in this post will open in a new window.
I will always like the music of Queen..this song is called..Las Palabras de Amor. Enjoy!
“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightfowardingly, without complexeties or pride. So I love you because i know no other way than this…” Pablo Neruda “A kiss is something you cannot give without taking and cannot take without giving.”
“Journeys end in lovers meeting, Every wise man’s son doth know”. William Shakespeare in Twelfth Night (II, iii, 44-45) “Love is but the discovery of ourselves in others, and the delight in the recognition.” Alexander Smith Enjoy this song by South African singer…Steve Hofmeyr…”You got me”…
And this South African Golden Oldie! Ge Korsten with “Liefling” and liefling means..”darling”…
Enjoy this song…”Fields of Gold” by Eva Cassidy
Enjoy this song by Ilse de Lange: “What does your heart say now?”
Slide down for the article…”Romance in Chess”…
Listen to the poem on this audio file too…by Robert Burns….source:http://www.chivalry.com/cantaria/lyrics/redredrose.html Notes: According to “Scottish Songs Illustrated,” this song is a Robert Burns rewrite of an older street ballad, which is said to have been written by a Lieutenant Henches, as a farewell to his betrothed.
0, my love is like a red, red rose,
that’s newly sprung in June.
0, my love is like a melody,
that’s sweetly play’d in tune.
As fair thou art, my bonnie lass,
so deep in love am I,
And I will love thee still, my dear,
till a’ the seas gang dry.
Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
and the rocks melt wi’ the sun!
And I will love thee still, my dear,
while the sands of life shall run.
And fare the weel, my only love!
And fare the well awhile!
And I will come again, my love.
Tho it were ten thousand mile!
Read on THIS LINK too the poem by Elizabeth Barret Browning…”How do I love thee”…enjoy! One of my favourites!
”How do I love thee? Let me count the ways…” by Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861)
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, — I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! — and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death. Today I’m in a mood to blog about love… What is love? What is your view, we discussed this at work….and we all agreed to the following conclusions…..Is it a sensation..a shared feeling between two people… ..based on physical and emotional attraction.. spontaneously generates when the right person appears. And of course also, it can spontaneously degenerate when the magic “just isn’t there” anymore. You fall in love, and you can fall out of it.
Love is the attachment that results from deeply appreciating another’s goodness. What we value most in ourselves, we must value most in others. God created us to see ourselves as good ….hence our need to either rationalize or regret our wrongdoings….In the Bible He said…after creating us humans… “and that was good”… So, too, we seek goodness in others. Nice looks, an engaging personality, intelligence, and talent may attract you, but goodness is what moves you to love.LOVE IS A CHOICE. Love is active. You can create it. Just focus on the good in another person …..and everyone has some!! If you can do this easily, you’ll love easily.
Love is care, demontrating active concern for the recipient’s life. Love is responsibility. Love is respect, the ability to see a person as he/she is, to be aware of his/her unique individuality. A big part of love is putting another person’s happiness ahead of your own. If you have to “prove” your love to someone, I don’t believe that he/she loves you the way you might think he/she does.When you love another person you don’t ask them to sacrifice a part of themselves in the name of that love. Love is not about jealousy. It is not about conflict. It is not about testing. Love is not about spitefulness. How do you show love to other people? Nobody expect you to “love” all people the way you love your husband/wife, but it is expected from us to “love your neighbour as you love yourself”.
Enjoy the poem: Love Song by T S Eliot
Communication, Communication, and Communication……..on THIS LINK you can read how important communication in a relationship between a married couple is.The link will open in a new window.
T S Eliot On THIS LINK you can read his extract “The Game of Chess”.
Click HEREto read more love poems on my blog.
And…on THIS LINK on my blog….you can read the poem of E A Poe…Annabel Lee…a beautiful love poem. Ben Jonson
T H E F O R E S T . IX. — SONG. — TO CELIA.
Drink to me, only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine ;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup,
And I’ll not look for wine.
The thirst, that from the soul doth rise,
Doth ask a drink divine :
But might I of Jove’s nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.
I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
Not so much honoring thee,
As giving it a hope, that there
It could not wither’d be.
But thou thereon didst only breathe,
And sent’st it back to me :
Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,
Not of itself, but thee.
Love Song
I lie here thinking of you:
the stain of love is upon the world! Yellow, yellow, yellow it eats into the leaves, smears with saffron horned branched the lean heavily against a smooth purple sky! There is no light only a honey-thick stain that drips from leaf to leaf and limb to limb spoiling the colors of the whole world- you far off there under the wine-red selvage of the west!
~~~William Carlos Williams
The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
LET us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats 5
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question …
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo
The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.
And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo
And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—
[They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
[They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”]
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
For I have known them all already, known them all:—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?
And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?
And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
It is perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
. . . . .
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?
I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
. . . . .
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep … tired … or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.
And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”—
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: “That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all.”
And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.”
. . . . .
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.
I grow old … I grow old …
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
Song to Celia
by Ben Jonson
Drinke to me, onely, with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kisse but in the cup,
And Ile not looke for wine.
The thirst, that from the soule doth rise,
Doth aske a drinke divine:
But might I of Jove’s Nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.
I sent thee, late, a rosie wreath,
Not so much honoring thee,
As giving it a hope, that there
It could not withered bee.
But thou thereon did’st onely breath,
And sent’st it back to mee:
Since when it growes, and smells, I sweare,
Not of it selfe, but thee.
Robert Browning
A Woman’s Last Word
Let’s contend no more, Love,
Strive nor weep:
All be as before, Love,
—Only sleep!
What so wild as words are?
I and thou
In debate, as birds are,
Hawk on bough!
See the creature stalking
While we speak!
Hush and hide the talking,
Cheek on cheek!
What so false as truth is,
False to thee?
Where the serpent’s tooth is
Shun the tree—
Where the apple reddens
Never pry—
Lest we lose our Edens,
Eve and I.
Be a god and hold me
With a charm!
Be a man and fold me
With thine arm!
Teach me, only teach, Love
As I ought
I will speak thy speech, Love,
Think thy thought—
Meet, if thou require it,
Both demands,
Laying flesh and spirit
In thy hands.
That shall be to-morrow
Not to-night:
I must bury sorrow
Out of sight:
Must a little weep, Love,
(Foolish me!)
And so fall asleep, Love,
Loved by thee.
–Robert Browning
Next I have a National Poet of South Africa…A G Visser. He’s written some beautiful love poems in Afrikaans! A.G. Visser en Lettie Conradie.
Hy trou in 1913 met Lettie, oorlede in 1920,
en in 1927 met Marie de Villiers.
Read more about A G Visser here on this link.
Liefdes gedigte: A G Visser Misère
(Triolet) The light that lies
In women’s eyes
Just… lies and lies!
In die eerste instansie,
wie sou nou kon dink,
Dat die liefde iets is
so beroerd ongestadig?
Dat die hand wat uit gulde
bokale laat drink,
In die eerste instansie,
wie sou nou kon dink
Dat dit eendag nog edik
en gal weer sal skink,
Ongevoelig meedoënloos,
wreed, ongenadig?
In die eerste instansie,
wie sou nou kon dink
Dat die liefde iets is
So beroerd ongestandig! http://www.gedichtenbundel.be/testliefdefoto1Eheu fugaces…
Si jeunesse savait.
Si vitesse avait.
Onthou jy nog, Anita lief,
Die aand daar by die strand,
My hart vir jou ’n ope brief,
Jou handjie in my hand?
Die maanlig het die see gesoen,
Die see … die strand, nog heet –
En ons … wat kon ons anders doen?
Kan ons dit ooit vergeet?
Cherie Yvonne, het jy vergeet
Die les in Afrikaans?
Die beste taal het ons geweet,
Die tyd in ou la France.
En aan my hemel onbewolk
Was jy die goue son;
“Toujours l’Amour” was onse tolk;
Onthou jy nog, Yvonne?
Mooi Gretchen, kan jy nog onthou
Ons tyd van soete min?
Die Neckar met sy waters blou,
Jou ogies blou daarin?
Die donkergroene dennewoud
Was liefdes-heiligdom –
Alt Heidelberg, die jeug van goud,
En jy – sal nooit weer kom!
En, bonnie Jean, onthou jy nog
Die eiland van die Swaan?
Ben Lomond en die donker loch
By heldere somermaan?
Aan rosebanke trek ons twee
(Was dit ’n droom – wie weet?)
Wit swane oor die lewensee –
Kan ek dit ooit vergeet?
Maar eenmaal in die lewe kom
Die liefde weergaloos;
En eenmaal in die gaarde blom
Volmaak ’n wonderroos.
Verwelk, helaas, my tuin se prag –
Weg met die donker stroom –
Die wind deurwaai my hof by nag
En vind my met my droom.
O lippe wat nog lag en lonk!
O harte wat nog klop!
Steeds doem gestaltes ewig-jonk
Uit die verlede op.
“Eheu fugaces anni …” sing
Gedagtes wat nou skroei;
Op velde van herinnering
Pers amarante bloei!
Ballade van die roos
’n Ou Spaanse gesegde noem die volgende
drie stadieë in die lewe van ‘n roos:
In die more: rosa pallida.
In die middag: rosa perfecta.
In die aand: rosa incarnada
Waarheen ook my oë mag staar
En waar ook my voete mag gaan,
Geduriglik droom ek van haar;
Haar beeltenis lief lag my aan,
Ek sien – as die sterrelig taan –
’n Roosknop wat stadig ontvou: –
– My noointjie van ver-hier-vandaan –
O „Pallida Rosa”, vir jou!
O blomkelk, met skoonheid belaan,
Ek smag op die middag-uur lou
My noointjie van ver-hier-vandaan
O „Rosa Perfecta”, na jou!
Ek ken jou nog nie – dit is waar –
Maar êrens moet jy tog bestaan;
Die aandson gloei rooi op die blaar
En ’k voel jy’s g’n ydele waan,
Want rooi sprei die liefde haar vaan!
En donker die oë getrou
– My noointjie van ver-hier-vandaan –
O Roos „Incarnada” – van jou!
Was jy ’n rosebloesem
En ek die roos se geur,
Hoe heerlik deur die lewe
Steeds rondom jou te swewe.
Beswymend aan jou boesem,
Betower deur jou kleur.
Was jy ’n rosebloesem
En ek die roos se geur.
Was jy ’n lied se woorde
En ek die melodie.
Hoe sou die dag verheerlik
Jou skoonheid so begeerlik;
Die nag tril van akkoorde
En soetste harmonie.
Was jy ’n lied se woorde,
En ek die melodie.
Was jy die hoogste kranse,
En ek die sonnegloed.
Jou wange sou dan verwe
En op jou lippe sterwe
My eerste moreglanse
En laaste awend-groet;
Was jy die hoogste kranse
En ek die sonnegloed
Maar jy ’s Prinses van Verre
En ek… ’n troebadoer;
Al gloei ook my gesange
Van liefde en verlange,
– Die vuurvlieg vir die sterre –
Wat my ten hemel voer;
Jy bly Prinses van Verre
En ek… ’n troebadoer.
Stille Rivierstroom….Nick Taylor
Die middagson helder en klaar
Sien neer van sy blou hemelbaan;
Die roos sal haar hart openbaar
Aan wie haar geheime verstaan.
Jou huis is waar jou hart is
My hart is leeg geween
Vandat sy verdwyn het
wandel ek oral alleen
Sing oor somer briese
Jou weemoed sleep weer oor
Saammet die lowerstruike
sing my ‘n hemelse koor
Chorus:
Liefde, Liefde’s ‘n stille rivierstroom
wat vloei deur ons woestynland
Droog die rivier weg
dan sal al die klein vissies sterf
Ek stap deur lee strate
Die echo’s maak my seer
My hart is soos my hande
soekend maar bly altyd leeg
Woestyne kan my nie keer nie
Ek baan deur storms my weg
Ek sal die rivier weer terugvind
voor hierdie klein vissie sterf
Chorus
ROMANCE IN CHESS? Romance in chess? ‘What could possibly be less romantic than chess?’ you might be asking. After all, chess is a game of war based on logic, isn’t it? There is nothing romantic about war or logic.
Many players are familiar with the famous quote by Dr. Siegbert Tarrasch from the preface to his classic manual The Game of Chess : ‘Chess, like love, like music, has the power to make men happy’ (which politically correct writers of more recent times change to ‘the power to make people happy’). Less familiar is Tarrasch’s preceding sentence, ‘I have always a slight feeling of pity for the man who has no knowledge of chess, just as I would pity the man who has remained ignorant of love.’
Chess once served a social function of allowing young men and women to meet above the board. Echecs et Féodalité : Raoul de Cambrai (Chess and feudalism; from Culture et curiosités, see the link box in the upper right corner of this article) tells of a poem by Bertolai, a 10th century poet from Laon, France. The poem, about a war of succession in Northern France, references chess twice. In the second reference chess is used as an excuse by the daughter of the new overlord Guerri to woo the hero Bernier to her chambers. Her chamberlain, assigned the task of arranging the meeting, says to Bernier, ‘My young lord, you can be proud of yourself, since the daughter of Guerri, the most noble woman from here to the south of France, asks that you join her in her apartments, to play chess. You should comply, but don’t play chess.’
The significance of this might be lost in our age of instant gratification, but as recently as 100 years ago, chess still occasionally served as a means to a more romantic end.
This popular illustration by Clarence Frederick Underwood (American, 1871-1929), is often listed under various titles. Our favorite is Knight takes Queen. This theme is not as unique as you might think. One web site has a collection of more than 50 drawings and photos, all with the theme ‘Couples playing chess’ (see the link box again). The images invariably have titles like ‘The right move’, ‘The greatest game in the world’, or variations on the word mate : ‘Impending Mate’, ‘Check and mate’, etc. The word ‘checkmate’ even figured in at least one early valentine. ‘My little love do you remember,
Ere we grew so sadly wise,
When you and I played chess together,
Checkmated by each others eyes?’
Source: http://chess.about.com/library/weekly/aa05b12.htm
Wow, one chess player on the chess site tells me he’s busy reading this book! E..er…
PS: Die gedig is ook geskryf in dieselfde tyd as die “Paaie…” gedig…as jy die ander een gelees het, dan kan jy dieselfde tema hier raaklees! Kommentaar…gooi dit! Jy hoef nie skaam te wees nie…ek kan dit hanteer!! lol! Jy kan “Paaie van herinnering HIERlees en nog meer op die bladsy-link bo-aan my blog gemerk met “my poems/gedigte”. Enige kommentaar sal verwelkom word!
Will South Africans have to steel themselves for the future? Read the article at the bottom of this post and try answering this question!
This Battle took place on 16th December 1838.For some South Africans, like myself, the 16th December will always be a day to “remember”…a day to commemorate….on this day, the Battle of Blood River took place between the Zulu impis of Dingane and the Voortrekkkers. On this picture you can see the Voortrekker laager in a D-shape. That was because of the two rivers that meet there, the Donga – and the Ncome rivers. Sarel Cilliers, a Voortrekker leader and a preacher, had promised God that they will build a church and commemorate this day as a Sabbath day to thank God for helping them. God intervened in this Battle and till 1993, this day was always a public holiday in South Africa to commemorate the events of that day. Today, after 1994, it is now called a day of “Reconciliation”. Read HEREabout it. On the first image you can see information about the two groups and on the Wiki-link, you can even read more…. This is a fantastic site to read more and there are really great pictures to see too…CLICK here to read more and you can even visit other historical sites!
On THIS link there is a time line and you can see all the kings of the Zulu, very interesting reading!
“On December 16th, dawn broke on a clear day, revealing that ” ‘all of Zululand sat there’ ,” said one Trekker eyewitness (Mackenzie 1997:74). On his deathbed 30 years later, Sarel Cilliers recalled that before the battle commenced, the Trekkers had made a vow to God that if He should deliver them, they would build a church and commemorate the day as a Sabbath.”
Read HEREabout the Battle of Blood River between the Voortrekkers and the Zulu impis of Dingane.
From the news front:News24.com 24.com/news/?p=tsa&i=790538 South Africa
2007-12-16 22:13
Johannesburg – Democratic Alliance leader Helen Zille has slammed the singing of Umshini wam (Bring me my machine gun) by delegates at the African National Congress’s 52nd national conference in Polokwane. “What will the world conclude about delegates who sing Bring me my machine gun – and that on the official Day of Reconciliation?” asked Zille.
“The contest for the top job has become a battle for access to perks of various offices and the institutions of state to use against other opponents” she said in a statement.
Zille could understand why ANC president Thabo Mbeki and others lamented this state of affairs.
This next poem is about Blood River…
source: http://365spore.blogspot.com Deur Theo Wassenaar
Die Slag van Bloedrivier
==16 Desember 1838==
Die Ooste gloei. Dit is die dag.
Wat vóór die Ooster-poorte wag
En aarsel om die donker waas,
Waar voor sy oog hang, weg te blaas:
Want o, wat sal sy oog aanskou –
Dan bloed, dan bloed, dan moord en rou?
Maar nee, hy skeur die sluier oop…
Dáár word Suid-Afrika gedoop!
Wat is dit, wat ek ginds gewaar,
Daar langs die donker berge, dáár?
Dit is Dingaan se swarte drom,
Dit is Dingaan! Die Zoeloes kom!
Gryp, Trekker, gryp jou kruit en roer
En staan jou man, jou naam is Boer!
Beskawing moet hier segevier,
Of Afrika is vir die dier!
Hul kom! Hul kom met woede aan,
Soos vuur, in hoë gras geslaan,
Wat, op die wind se vlug gedraag,
Al knett’rend oor die grassaad jaag,
En vir geen pad of vóórbrand stuit;
Die vlamme-arrems gryp vooruit,
Verteer al wat hul beet kan kry,T
ot as alléén nog orig bly.
Hul kom! Hul kom soos aasvoëls aan,
Die wye vlerke oopgeslaan,
En bek en pote rooi gekleur
Van prooi, nog pas uiteengeskeur.
O hoor hoe dreun dit, soos hul kom!
Die woel en wemel rond en om,
Van skildvel, assegai, barbaar!
Van Zoeloes, Zoeloes aan mekaar!
Hul storm! Hul storm! Die swarte drom,
En skreeu en bokspring soos hul kom.
Maar in die Treklaer is dit stil,
Want elke Boer weet wat hy wil:
So oog hou wag; sy hart herhaal
Die vroom gelofte elke maal,
En naas hom staan sy Sanna klaar,
Die kruit en koeëls lê bymekaar.
Hul kom! Hul Kom! . . . maar ry aan ry
Stort neer om daar vir goed te bly.
Die Sannas bulder, die osse brul
En hardloop rond, met angs vervul;
Dit kletter hier, dit knetter daar,
Dit reën asgaaie op die laer.
Hul kom! Hul kom!. . . maar deins weer trug.
Hul kom! . . . maar kom met weifelsug,
Hul kom! . . . maar weifel weer, weifel,
Hul kom! . . . dit was die laaste keer.
Dis moed, wat volhou na begin,V
ertroue is dit, wat oorwin.
Sou vier maal honderd Trekkers dan
Vir twaalf maal duisend Kaffers kan
Verslaan? Aanskou die water maar,
Aanskou die sloot, die vlakte dáár:
Drie duisend lyke daar lê daar rond! . . .
Pretorius alleen is lig gewond.
O hart, wat blydskap het gesmaak,
Wie kan die trotse dag genaak,
Van Afrika’s beskawingsdoop,
En koud bloed deur sy hart laat loop?
Ja, Stem van donker Afrika,
Ons, wat jou naam met eer moes dra,
Ons woon hier op ‘n wêrelddeel,
Ons moes regeer, en is verdeel!
Persone wat aan die Slag van Bloedrivier deelgeneem het/People taking part in this battle
(lys is nie 100% bygewerk nie, maar die volgende persone is reeds geverifieër)
Source: http://www.boerevryheid.co.za/forums/showthread.php?t=11001
Hoofkommandant
Andries Wilhelmus Pretorius
Assistent Hoofkommandant
Karel Pieter Landman
Kommandante
Johannes H de Lange (Hans Dons), Jacobus Potgieter, Pieter Daniel Jacobs, Stephanus Erasmus, Jacobus Uys, Lukas Meyer
Veldkornette
Johannes C Steyn, Gert Viljoen, HA Pretorius, Gert van Staden, Stephanus Lombard, Jan Scheepers, Hermanus Fourie, William Cowie, Casper Labuschagne, Jan Joubert (ook kanonnier en godsdiensleier)
Godsdiensleiers
Charl Cilliers, Jan du Plessis
Kanonniers
Piet Rudolph, Gerhardus Pretorius
Manskappe
Aucamp Piet
Badenhorst H
Badenhorst P
Bantjes Jan Gerritze
Beneke J
Bester Barend
Bester Lourens
Bester Paul Michiel
Bezuidenhout Daniel P
Biedolf
Bierman Isak
Biggar Alexander (kolonel)
Bodes Barend
Bornman Johannes Jurgens
Boshof Jan
Botha Ernst Adriaan Lodewyk
Botha Hendrik
Botha JC
Botha L
Botha PJ
Botha PR
Botha Theunis
Botha TF
Bothma Carel A
Bothma Daniel
Breytenbach Chris
Breytenbach Johannes Jacobus
Breytenbach Jacob Coenraad
Breytenbach Johan Hendrik
Bronkhorst Jacobus
Bronkhorst Johannes Jacobus
Bronkhorst Sam
Bruwer Eduard CD
Bruwer Hans
Bruyn Piet
Buitendag CH
Burger Jacobus J
Buys Piet
Claassens Christiaan
Coetzee J
Coetzer JJ
Coetzer Phillippus Jeremias
Coetzer Thys
Crombrink G
Cronje Abraham
Cronje Piet
Henning Dafel
Jan Dafel
Thomas Richard Dannhauser
De Beer Abraham
De Beer Christiaan M
De Beer C (sr)
De Beer Jan Christiaan
De Beer Johannes A
De Beer Stephanus A (sr)
De Beer Zacharias Jacobus
De Clercq Abraham
De Clercq B
De Clercq C
De Clercq J
De Jager A
De Jager Frederik J
De Jager Izak J
De Jager JW
De Jager Lodewyk
De Lange Adriaan (jr)
De Lange Robert
De Wet Kootjie
De Wet P
De Winnaar S
Dreyer C
Dreyer F
Dreyer I
Du Plessis Francois
Du Plessis Jan
Du Plessis P
Du Plooy Wouter
Du Plooy Hendrik
Du Plooy Willem
Du Preez PD
Dysel F
Engelbrecht Adriaan
Engelbrecht E
Engelbrecht Gerhardus
Engelbrecht H (Jong)
Engelbrecht HH (sr)
Engelbrecht Johannes Hendrik
Enslin Johannes Jacobus
Erasmus Antonie
Erasmus Barend
Erasmus Cornelis
Erasmus Daniel Elardus
Erasmus Hans
Erasmus Jacobus
Erasmus Pieter
Erasmus
Erasmus SE
Esterhuizen Jan
Ferreira Marthinus Stephanus
Fick Hendrik
Fisher Jan
Fourie Christiaan Erns
Fourie Dirk
Fourie Hermanus
Fourie Philip
Geer Carel
Giesing F
Gouws Daniel
Gouws J Marthinus
Gouws Jacob J
Gouws PM
Grove Hermanus
Greyling Jan
Grobbelaar Nicolaas Johannes
Grobbelaar Pieter Schalk
Hammes PJ
Hattingh C
Hattingh F
Hattingh JH (Hans)
Herbst M
Heydenreich Cornelis Frederik
Human PG
Jacobs Gabriel
Jacobs J Daniel
Jacobsz Jan
Hanse Willem
Jordaan Willem
Joubert Abraham Benjamin
Joubert Jan (Jacobus seun)
Joubert Jan (jr)
Joubert Pieter J
Joyce Robert
Kemp G
Kemp Jacobus
Kemp Petrus J
Klaassen P
Klopper Jacobus
Klopper H
Koekemoer C
Koekemoer Marthinus
Kritzinger Lewis
Kruger Jan
Kruger PE
Kruger TJ
Laas Cornelis
Laas Matthys
Labuschagne JP
Labuschagne JH (Jan Groen)
Labuschagne Willem Adriaan
Landman Jan AKP (sr)
Landman Jan (Doringberg)
Leech
Le Roux D
Le Roux Nicolaas
Liebenberg C
Liebenberg C (sr)
Lindeque P
Lombard Hermanus Antonie
Lombard Hans
Lombard S
Lotter J
Ludick MJ
Malan David D
Malan DJJ
Malan Jacob Jacobus
Malan Stephanus
Marcus F
Marais Coenraad
Marais Johannes L
Marais Stephanus Abraham
Mare Wynand Wilhelm
Maritz Pieter, Maritz Salmon Gerhardus
Maritz Stephanus
Martens Hendrik Jacobus
Martens J Thomas (sr)
Martens J Thomas (jr)
Marx Frans
Meintjies Albertus Jacobus
Meintjies Jacobus William
Meintjies Schalk
Mey Christiaan Lodewyk
Meyer Jacob
Meyer Lukas
Meyer Jan
Meyer Theodorus
Mienie Carel Johannes Hendrik
Mienie Jan Willem
Mienie Frederik Christiaan
Mienie Willem
Moolman I
Muller Christiaan
Naude Francois Paulus
Naude Jacob
Naude Philip Jacobus
Neethling Hendrik Ludolf
Neethling Schalk Willie
Neethling Willem
Nel LJ
Nel Theunis Jacobus
Nel Willem Gabriel
Nortje Joachim
Oberholzer Jan Albert
Olivier O
Olivier (Lang) Gert
Oosthuizen JJ (sr)
Oosthuizen Jan
Oosthuizen Marthinus
Opperman C
Opperman D
Parker Edward
Pieterse Frederik
Pieterse Nicolaas
Pieterse HJ
Potgieter Cornelis
Potgieter Evert F
Potgieter Hendrik
Potgieter J
Potgieter Matthys
Potgieter Hendrik Theunis
Potgieter Theodorus
Pretorius AP
Pretorius B
Pretorius Dewald Johannes
Pretorius Gideon
Pretorius MW
Pretorius Nicolaas
Pretorius Piet
Pretorius P (P seun)
Pretorius Samuel
Pretorius WJ
Pretorius Willem H
Prinsloo Jochemis (H seun)
Prinsloo NJ
Prinsloo W
Raads D
Raads G
Raath Philip
Raath Pieter
Raath Roelof
Ranger Simon
Reineke Adam
Retief Jacobus
Roscher P
Robbertse I
Robbertse Jan
Robbertse Matthys
Roets Hendrik
Rood
Roos Cornelis J
Roos G
Roux Dirk
Rudolph Bernard
Rudolph Pieter
Scheepers Coenraad F
Scheepers Gert
Scheepers H
Scheepers Jacobus Johannes
Scheepers Marthinus
Scheepers M (G seun)
Scheepers Stephanus Johannes
Schoeman Gert
Schoeman Johannes
Schutte Jan Harm Thomas
Slabbert G
Smit C (C seun)
Smith F
Snyman Coenraad FW
Snyman JH
Steenkamp Hermanus
Steenkamp Jan Harm
Steenkamp Piet L
Steyn Johannes Christoffel
Steyn Hermanus
Steyn Pieter
Strydom DJ
Strydom Hendrik
Strydom J
Strydom Pieter Gerhardus
Swanepoel Willem
Swart Pieter Johannes
Uys Dirk C
Uys Jan
Uys JJ (jr)
Uys Piet
Van der Berg H
Van der Berg Isak
Van der Merwe Andries
Van der Merwe C
Van der Merwe Christiaan Pieter
Van der Merwe Frederik J
Van der Merwe Jan
Van der Merwe Josias
Van der Merwe Lukas J
Van der Merwe LP
Van der Merwe M
Van der Merwe Willem
Van der Schyff D
Van der Schyff JD
Van Deventer Jan
Van Dyk Joseph
Van Dyk Sybrand
Van Gass Ferdinand P
Van Gass JF
Van Jaarsveld A
Van Loggerenberg H
Van Niekerk Izak Andries
Van Niekerk JAP
Van Niekerk P
Van Rensburg Lucas
Van Rensburg Nicolaas M
Van Rooyen GF
Van Rooyen Gert Reinier
Van Rooyen GT
Van Rooyen I
Van Rooyen Lukas
Van Rooyen Stephanus
Van Schalkwyk Christiaan
Van Schalkwyk Gert
Van Staden Cornelis
Van Staden VC
Van Straten Jacob
Van Venen D
Van Vuren Janse Lukas Gerhardus
Van Vuuren P
Van Zyl Jacobus
Venter A
Venter PA
Venter WD
Vermaak CI
Vermaak J
Viljoen Christoffel
Viljoen Gideon
Viljoen Johan H
Viljoen M
Viljoen Sarel
Visagie Jan Bloedrivier is slegs ‘n week voor Geloftedag (16 Desember 2007) geskryf en gekomponeer. Bloedrivier is vir die eerste keer gesing op 16 Desember 2007 op Bloedrivier. Bloedrivier word op DV 18 Januarie 2008 in ‘n ateljee opgeneem waarna hy in CD formaat beskikbaar sal wees.
In 1838 is God se hulp gevra om die boere in hul nood te steun, te behoed en te bewaar
‘n Monument sal hulle bou en die dag sal heilig bly,
Hul enigste wapen – hul geloof – met die Here aan hul sy …
Die nag was kul en donker, die impi’s staan en wag,
die lampies op die ossewaens soos Mahlozi’s in die nag
‘n Strandwolf sluip daar tussendeur, hy’s onheilspellend daar
Die mis sak toe, die vyand druis, hul wag op die bevel.
In die geslote walaer, in ‘n see van heidendom
is daar ‘n lig wat helder skyn – die lig van Christendom.
Die stemme van ‘n mannekoor weerklink deur digte mis
Psalm agt-en-dertig, stel almal weer gerus.
KOOR
Maar dieselfde God van Bloedrivier is steeds ons God vandag
Hy verstaan ons grootste vrese, Hy staan by ons deur die nag
Kom ons almal vat weer hande, erken sy grote Mag
Want dieselfde God van Bloedrivier is steeds met ons vandag
Twee skote van ‘n dubbel-loop, die stryd het pas begin
Die isilongo kondig aan Dingaan – ons sal oorwin
Maar God ons Vader is met ons, die vyand word verslaan
Die veld drink bloed, soos op Golgota – dit moet ons verstaan
KOOR
Maar dieselfde God van Bloedrivier is steeds ons God vandag
Hy verstaan ons grootste vrese, Hy staan by ons deur die nag
Kom ons almal vat weer hande, erken sy grote Mag
Want dieselfde God van Bloedrivier is steeds met ons vandag
As you know, I was tagged by Meghna ….…to do a meme! Read what a meme is….(pronounced like in “dream”)…on a post of 2 days ago……OK, it was REALLYvery difficult to decide WHERE to start first, as my time is now very little after starting an IT course today! So, I had to think quickly what I will post, as there are so MANY things I could write about!!, but to limit it to only SEVEN! That was very difficult….I made a list, crossed out, started with another, crossed out again…and then just started with what jumped to my mind!!I will have to do another one and another and another and another and…..wow….
First of all, I do LOVE teaching, as I see teaching as a CALLING and not just a job…(like I heard some teachers saying that here in London..) for me it is NOT just a job!……..My great grandad left Holland to teach in South Africa and I think the teaching -blood is running through my veins! Click hereto see pictures of the current school. The link will open in a new window. The old school, which was in his very own house, is about 2 km from the current school.
I used to teach Primary and don’t think I ever want to teach Secondary……but if I have to…..It will have to be a subject like ICT only, as I do like IT and to incorporate ICT in any aspect of my teaching.
I love reading, I LOVE books…not just “like” it….I have about a library packed away in South Africa and have slowly started to build one again. Children’s books….adult books…If I’m teaching, you will always find me in a bookshop, leaving with many books! A book as a present to me…and you will make my day! I also like writing stories. During secondary school, I used to get good marks for creative writing…what we also call “composition”….and I was always eager to get homework in composition….I just loved to let my mind flow….one of my favourite books is “The Pearl” by John Steinbeck. Another book by him…”Of mice and men”…read at the bottom of my post about a play…
Poetry!!! On this picture you can see a famous and well-known South African poet…Totius…(pen name) …..J D du Toit….he wrote some fantastic poems, some of them very moving, like the one about the death of his own child, killed by lightning….really an emotional poem! His daughter stood by an open window, when lightning struck and he was there to witness everything…as his poem tells us…read my translated version of his poem at the bottom of the post…
South Africa!!! ……..I love my country to bits! I have a passion for South Africa. South Africa will always be THE place to be!! No other country is as beautiful as South Africa. People who want to differ…they haven’t been there….and if they still do after being there…then they haven’t seen South Africa!!! On this picture you can see Simonstown…Cape Town…Read the blog…anamericaninpretoria.blogspot.com – and you will see why she loves South Africa too. One reason why I LOVE my country and will always do, no matter what!
And…….of course……..if you don’t know it by now…you will NEVER know! CHESS! I never played it at school. During Primary at the age of about 10, my brother taught me…I got my first chess book at the age of 12 from my one sister…..with Fischer/Spasski games in the back….I do like Bobby Fischer’s games…..I played them through as a child as I had no one to play with! No one in my family wanted to play chess…then at Secondary…it was always just BOYS when we were called to play chess…and I felt intimidated by them…no other girls! And the boys…always giving you the “look”…as if they wanna say…”hey…a girl playing chess!! how is that possible!”…I really started to get into chess when at my second school, the Headteacher asked me to start chess…….and I was over the moon! My kids really did well….I left at that school with two teams, each team…. 10 players and two reserves and a lot of Junior children…in South Africa they are Gr1-Gr3 (7-9 year old) kids in line to join the teams later… (If you click on this pic, you will see a good checkmate position, this player’s rating is a bit low, he only started playing quite recently, but has picked-up very quickly and sometimes, I really have to be very careful with my moves! We play friendlies and while playing, I try to help him with the closing of his games, as this is where his problem lies at the moment.)
I like the colour red ….although purple-pinkish is also one of my favourites…This top is a beautiful top!
…CATS!! I’m a catlover! Cats are peaceloving animals! They have personalities of their own and they have their own language to speak to you!! Listen to your cat!! and try to understand its language!!
The poem that follows now, is the one Totius wrote about his child. Read my English Translation further down….and I hope you enjoy it…although it’s a very sad poem!
John Steinbeck may have written “Of Mice and Men” as a novella, but he always had theatrical aspirations for it. After the book launched his literary celebrity in 1937, he turned it into a play, which began a respectable Broadway run later that year, and a critically acclaimed film followed. More stage and screen versions have been attempted, but no matter how good the dramatization, “Of Mice and Men” will always be that slim junior-high classic that (despite the teacher’s harping on foreshadowing) unlocked the gripping power of narrative storytelling…
O die pyn-gedagte
Totius….(JD du Toit)
O Die pyn-gedagte: My kind is dood! . . .
dit brand soos ‘n pyl in my.
Die mense sien daar niks nie van,
en die Here alleen die weet wat ek ly.
Die dae kom en die nagte gaan
die skadu’s word lank en weer kort;
die drywerstem van my werk weerklink,
en ek gaan op my kruisweg voort.
Maar daar skiet aldeur ‘n pyn in my hart,
so, dat my lewe se glans verdwyn;
Jou kind is dood met ‘n vreeslike dood!
En – ek gryp my bors van die pyn.
O Die bliksemgedagte! . . . Ja, lieflingskind,
een straal het jou skone liggaam verskroei,
maar bliksemstrale sonder tal
laat my binneste brand en bloei.
Sy was so teer soos ‘n vlindertjie,
sy’t lugtig omheen geswerf;
‘n asempie wind kon haar vlerkies breek
en – kyk watter dood moes sy sterf!
Hoe weinig die kinders wat so moet sterf,
dis een uit die tienduisend-tal,
en ag, dat dit sy was, en ek moes sien
dat sy dood in my arms val!
O Die pyn-gedagte: My kind is dood! . . .
dit brand soos ‘n pyl in my;
die mense die sien daar niks nie van,
en die Here alleen die weet wat ek ly.
Update…..as I promised…my own translation of the poem!
Oh the painful thought
Oh the painful thought: my child is dead!
It burns like a dart in my flesh…
People don’t see anything….
Only God knows my suffering!
Days come and nights go
Shadows grow tall and short
Behind me, the echo of my work’s moving spirit;
and I… continue my way to the cross
But then, a pain poked through my heart!
so much, the brilliance of my life disappeared;
Your child is dead; died a horrible death!
And I clenched my chest due to the pain…
Oh the thunderbolt-thought!….yes, beloved child!
One flash of lightning scorched your tender body,
but numerous thunderbolts burnt my heart
and left it …. bleeding
She was so tender, like a butterfly …
She glided lightly about;
A breath of wind could damage her tiny wings
and…what a death she died!
Few children die like this
only one in ten-thousand!
and oh!…It’s my little girl..
witnessed by me…. and died in my arms!
Die Vierkleur
DIE VIERKLEUR IS WEER IN GEVAAR . . .
Kom, burgers, trek die perde reg;
Nou vrou en kind goeien – dag geseg!
Jongkêrels, los die nôi se hand;
En seuns, verlaat jul moeders, want
Daar gaan ‘n strydroep deur die land!
Gryp nou die teuels bymekaar –
Die vierkleur is weer in gevaar!
Die regterhand gryp die visier,
Die bors oorkruis ‘n bandolier;
Die spore in die sonskyn blink,
Stiebeuels teen mekaar weerklink,
Die ketel aan die saal rinkink.
Kom, burgers, hou nou bymekaar –
Die vierkleur is weer in gevaar!
Laat aan die trippelaar sy pas,
Maar hou die vuurge hingste vas.
Die agterstes moet ingalop
Tot binne – in die ruiter – trop,
Die ponie en die bossie – kop.
Kom burgers, ry so bymekaar-
Die vierkleur is weer in gevaar!
Trek burgers, almal nou geteld,
Al voort maar deur die wye veld,
En of jul al omlaag verdwyn,
Of op die heuwels weer verskyn –
Wys altyd weer die slingerlyn.
Kom, burgers, trek so bymekaar –
Die vierkleur is in gevaar!
En moet jul val, val dan met eer,
Met die oog die vyand toegekeer;
Val op die grense, man en perd,
Die oue vierkleur is dit wêrd,
En die eerkroon wenk al uit die vert.
Val burgers, val dan bymekaar –
Totuis ~~~~~~~~~~~~ Maar een Suid-Afrika
Gee my ‘n roer in my regterhand,
Gee my ‘n bok wat vlug oor ‘n rand –
En ‘n flukse perd om hom weg te dra:
Gee my Suid-Afrika.
Gee my ‘n kamp waar bossies groei,
Gee my ‘n fraai volstruis wat broei –
En ‘n Boerseun wat baie wa:
Gee my Suid-Afrika.
Gee my ‘n koppie om op te staan,
Gee my die Swartland met al sy graan –
En nooit of te nimmer hoor jy my kla:
Gee my Suid-Afrika.
Gee my ‘n vlakte ruim en wyd,
Gee my die veld se oneindigheid –
En die lekker geur wat die lug daar dra:
Gee my Suid-Afrika.
Uit: Gedigte
A.D. Keet
(1888-1972)
KOMAAN! Woorde: JAN F.E. CELLIERS
Musiek: DIRKIE DE VILLIERS
Wees sterk! Daar’s ‘n nasie te lei,
daar’s ‘n stryd te stry, daar’s werk!
Daar’s nie na guns of eer te kyk,
daar’s nie na links of regs te wyk,
daar’s net te swyg en aan te stryk–Komaan!
Wees trou! Daar’s ‘n volk te leer
om homself te eer, te bou;
om God en God alleen te vrees,
aan aard en taal getrou te wees,
gesond en waar van hart en gees–Komaan!
Wees fier op ‘n voorgeslag waard,
in wil en in daad gespier!
Hul lewensweg het ons gewys
om trou te wees aan waarheidseis.
Wie laak mag laak, wie prys mag prys–Komaan!
Let us not forget today….People who died for our freedom during the wars! People who served during the wars….Remembrance day…11 November, 11 am….
A bit Afrikaans…
*****My gedagtes gaan ook na my eie pa wat in WWII geveg het, hy het skool op ouderdom 16 verlaat om ‘n Bomwerper te wees. Vandag het ek sy log-boek in my besit – omdat ek sy naamgenoot is – waarin al die vlugte opgeteken is, al die bomme wat afgegooi is, waar dit afgegooi is, watter teikens getref is…ens ens. Hy was in Egipte/Italie. Hy’s op ‘n vroeë ouderdom oorlede aan ‘n hartaanval en die dokter het gemeen dis die spanning van die oorlog, want blykbaar het baie soldate – van WWII – op ‘n vroeë ouderdom gesterf deur spannings-verwante probleme wat die nagevolg is van die oorlog-spanning. *****
Image: sparkyteaching.com
Why the Poppy?
Scarlet poppies (popaver rhoeas) grow naturally in conditions of disturbed earth throughout Western Europe. The destruction brought by the Napoleonic wars of the early 19th Century transformed bare land into fields of blood red poppies, growing around the bodies of the fallen soldiers.In late 1914, the fields of Northern France and Flanders were once again ripped open as the First World War raged through Europe’s heart.The significance of the poppy as a lasting memorial symbol to the fallen was realised by the Canadian surgeon John McCrae in his poem In Flanders Fields. The poppy came to represent the immeasurable sacrifice made by his comrades and quickly became a lasting memorial to those who died in the First World War and later conflicts.
Listen to the song…”The Green Fields of France”…and you can download it here: http://olc.spsd.sk.ca/De/resources/remember/links.html …..
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields
By John McCrae 1915
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Reply to Flanders Fields Oh! sleep in peace where poppies grow;
The torch your falling hands let go
Was caught by us, again held high,
A beacon light in Flanders sky
That dims the stars to those below.
You are our dead, you held the foe,
And ere the poppies cease to blow,
We’ll prove our faith in you who lie
In Flanders Fields.
Oh! rest in peace, we quickly go
To you who bravely died, and know
In other fields was heard the cry,
For freedom’s cause, of you who lie,
So still asleep where poppies grow,
In Flanders Fields.
As in rumbling sound, to and fro,
The lightning flashes, sky aglow,
The mighty hosts appear, and high
Above the din of battle cry,
Scarce heard amidst the guns below,
Are fearless hearts who fight the foe,
And guard the place where poppies grow.
Oh! sleep in peace, all you who lie
In Flanders Fields.
And still the poppies gently blow,
Between the crosses, row on row.
The larks, still bravely soaring high,
Are singing now their lullaby
To you who sleep where poppies grow
In Flanders Fields.
– John Mitchell
Poppies, picture by Tom Barret
The most famous Canadian poem was inspired by one of the fiercest battles of the First World War.
During a lull in the battle, Lt.-Col. John McCrae scribbled the 13 lines of In Flanders Field on a scrap of paper, describing the horror he had seen at Ypres and the hope that it would not be forgotten.
McCrae, a tall, boyish 43-year-old member of the Canadian Medical Corps., was an artillery veteran of the Boer War in South Africa. He went to the line in at Ypres on April 22, 1915, the first time the enemy used poison gas.
But the first attack failed and so did the next wave and the next. For 17 days the allies repulsed wave after wave of the attacking enemy.
“One can see the dead lying there on the front field,” McCrae wrote ‘And in places where the enemy threw in an attack, they lie very thick on the slopes of the German trenches.”
McCrae, worked on the bank of the Yser Canal, dressing hundreds of wounded. At times the dead and wounded actually rolled down the bank from above his dugout. Other times, while awaiting the arrival of batches of wounded, he would watch the men at work in the burial plots which were quickly filling up.
Finally, McCrae and his unit were relieved and he wrote home: “We are weary in body and wearier in mind. The general impression in my mind is one of a nightmare”.
In April 1915, his closest friend was killed.
McCrae, who had written poetry since childhood in Guelph, Ont., sat down and distilled his thoughts about the war into his famous poem.
A full life … As well as being poet and author, John McCrae was a teacher and doctor before going overseas to fight the war.
He mailed the hand-written sheet off to Punch magazine in England and it was published in December 1915.
McCrae never returned home from the war. He died of pneumonia in Boulogne, France on January 28, 1918.
Near the town of Mennin, in Flanders, Belgium, they’ve restored as a shrine the battlefield bunker where McCrae wrote his famous poem. In memory of McCrae and other war dead, a bugler plays the Last Post every evening.
Born to a Scottish family that operated woolen and lumber mills, McCrae graduated from Guelph Collegiate with a scholarship to the University of Toronto.
He earned a B.A. and a medical degree at Toronto, did graduate work at Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore, served as a gunner with Canadian Field Artillery in the Boer War and then moved to Montreal.
This next poem was written by a South African poet about a South African that died at Vlaandere during the war…
Aan die graf van ‘n onbekende Boerseun in Vlaandere
Erens in Vlaanderland het jy die stof
van ou Europa met jou bloed verjong;
maar by jou wrede heengaan kon g’n tong
jou vroom toeprewel: “Stof is jy, tot stof. . .”
Met ragtime-deuntjies in jou kop het jy
uiteindelik jou Golgota gevind. –
0, opdraand was jou skofte, trekkerskind, –
jy kón nie in jou tuiste vatplek kry!
En êrens in ou VIaanderland staan daar
In eensame klein kruisie. – Seun van God!
Moet ons ou volkie aanhou offer tot
ons, soos U Kruis, oor heel die wêreld staar?
Stil, stil, my hart, al kan jy niks meer dra; –
in Vlaand’re rus ‘n seun van Afrika!
JRL Van Bruggen
An American, Miss Moira Michael, read In Flanders’ Fields and wrote a reply entitled We Shall Keep the Faith:
Oh! You who sleep in Flanders’ fields,
Sleep sweet – to rise anew,
We caught the torch you threw,
And holding high we kept
The faith with those who died.
We cherish too, the poppy red
That grows on fields where valour led.
It seems to signal to the skies
That blood of heroes never dies,
But lends a lustre to the red
Of the flower that blooms above the dead
In Flanders’ fields.
And now the torch and poppy red
Wear in honour of our dead.
Fear not that ye have died for naught
We’ve learned the lesson that ye taught
In Flanders’ fields.
Other poets of the time were also stirred to write responses to McCrae’s poem.
America’s Answer
Rest ye in peace, ye Flanders’ dead.
The fight that ye so bravely led
We’ve taken up. And we will keep
True faith with you who lie asleep
With a cross to mark his bed,
In Flanders’ fields.
Fear not that ye have died for naught.
The torch ye threw to us we caught.
Ten million hands will hold it high,
And Freedom’s light shall never die!
We’ve learned the lesson that ye taught
In Flanders’ fields.
R.W. Lilliard
Reply to In Flanders’ Fields
In Flanders’ fields the cannons boom,
And fitful flashes light the gloom;
While up above, like eagles, fly
The fierce destroyers of the sky;
With stains the earth wherein you lie
Is redder than the poppy bloom,
In Flanders’ fields.
Sleep on, ye brave! The shrieking shell,
The quaking trench, the startling yell,
The fury of the battle hell
Shall wake you not, for all is well;
Sleep peacefully, for all is well.
Your flaming torch aloft we bear,
With burning heart and oath we swear
To keep the faith, to fight it through,
To crush the foe, or sleep with you,
In Flanders’ fields.
J. A. Armstrong
Reply to Flanders’ Fields
Oh! sleep in peace where poppies grow;
The torch your falling hands let go
Was caught by us, again held high,
A beacon light in Flanders’ sky
That dims the stars to those below.
Your are our dead, you held the foe
And ere the poppies cease to blow,
We’ll prove our faith in you who lie
In Flanders’ fields.
Oh! rest in peace, we quickly go
To you who bravely died, and know
In other fields was heard the cry,
For freedom’s cause, of you who lie,
So still asleep where poppies grow,
In Flanders’ fields.
As in rumbling sound, to and fro,
The lightning flashes, sky aglow,
The mighty hosts appear, and high
Above the din of battle cry,
Scarce heard amidst the guns below,
Are fearless hearts who fight the foe,
And guard the place where poppies grow.
Oh! sleep in peace, all you who lie
In Flanders’ fields.
And still the poppies gently blow,
Between the crosses, row on row.
The larks, still bravely soaring high,
Are singing now their lullaby
To you who sleep where poppies grow
In Flanders’ fields.
Just my mood…not in a mood to say anything today Wish I could be at these places in South Africa!! Follow the link at the bottom of this post to read more about Ingrid Jonker and her poems and to see a movie-file too…also on my blog.
Ingrid Jonker died by walking into the sea! To: Ingrid Jonker…Poet…A van Heerden
I see her pain,
I hear her voice
No one understood,
on one looked up
She carried a burden,
She carried herself,
She carried alone
~
Through her words,
Through her thoughts,
Through her lines
Through her phrases
She opened her soul
She opened her heart
She cried out
All on deaf ear
Abandoned
alone confused
loved used
abused
She let them.
~
Their acceptance made her accept,
But she died of that,
inside her soul.
She had too much of this world to carry on…
The water was calling
In her own defence
She gave herself
At her own expense…
This poem is in Afrikaans/English….
Somewhere I have never travelled – Iewers het ek nooit gereis nie
Ingrid Jonker…..adapted by e.e. cummings
+
somewhere I have never travelled,
gladly beyond any experience,
your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which I cannot touch because they are too near
~~~~~
iewers het ek nooit gereis nie daardie groen verte
verby alle herinneringe jou oë dra hul stilte
in jou geringste gebaar is daar iets wat my omsluit
of wat ek nie durf aanraak nie iets te ná
~~~~
your slightest look easily will unclose me
though I have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself
as Spring opens(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose
~~~~
jou oë van landskappe sal my maklik blootlê
al het ek my hart gesluit soos twee hande
jy ontvou my keer op keer soos die lente
bedrewe en heimlik haar eerste roos
~~~~
or if your wish be to close me, I and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
~~~~
en as jy my sou verlaat geslote dan
sou my voorhoof sluit mooi en onmiddelik
soos die hart van ‘n blom sou droom
van ‘n wit sneeu wat alles oral bedek
~~~~
nothing which we are to perceive in this world
equals the power of intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
~~~~
niks wat ons in hierdie wêreld kan versin
ewenaar die krag van jou broosheid die tekstuur
van jou oë tref my die groen van sy veld
een bevestig die ewige en die vir altyd met elke sug
~~~~
(I do not know what it is about you that closes and opens;
only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands
~~~~
ek weet nie wat dit is wat jou laat vou
en ontvou nie ek verstaan net êrens op my reise
die stem van jou oë is dieper as alle rose
nee nie eens die reën nie het sulke hande
The child is not dead
The child lifts his fists against his mother
Who shouts Africa ! shouts the breath
Of freedom and the veld
In the locations of the cordoned heart
The child lifts his fists against his father
in the march of the generations
who shouts Africa ! shout the breath
of righteousness and blood
in the streets of his embattled pride
The child is not dead not at Langa
nor at Nyanga not at Orlando
nor at Sharpeville
nor at the police station at Philippi
where he lies with a bullet through his brain
The child is the dark shadow of the soldiers
on guard with rifles Saracens and batons
the child is present at all assemblies and law-givings
the child peers through the windows of houses and into the hearts of mothers
this child who just wanted to play in the sun at Nyanga is everywhere
the child grown to a man treks through all Africa
the child grown into a giant journeys through the whole world
Without a passIngrid Jonker March 1960
(Translation of: “Die Kind” ) Poems now owned by Simone Jonker…daughter Read on this link more and there’s a movie file too.
On THIS LINK – also on my blog – you can find more information about Ingrid and watch a short movie about her too. On THIS LINK you can read more about Ingrid Jonker and listen to a song.
BITTERBESSIE DAGBREEK ~~
Ingrid Jonker
Bitterbessie dagbreek
bitterbessie son
‘n spieël het gebreek
tusen my en hom
Soek ek na die grootpad
om daarlangs te draf
oral draai die paadjies
van sy woorde af
Dennebos herinnering
dennebos vergeet
het ek ook verdwaal
trap ek in my leed
Papegaai-bont eggo
kierang kierang my
totdat ek bedroë
weer die koggel kry
Eggo is geen antwoord
antwoord hy alom
bitterbessie dagbreek
bitterbessie son
TOE MAAR DIE DONKER MAN
(ook gesing deur Laurika Rauch!)
Ingrid Jonker
Op die groen voetpad
van die horison ver
om die aarde skat,
stap ‘n ou man
wat’n oop maan dra in sy hare
Nagtegaal in sy hart
jasmyn gepluk vir sy oop knoopsgat
en ‘n rug gebuk aan sy jare.
Wat maak hy, mammie?
~~
Hy roep die kriekies
Hy roep die swart
stilte wat sing
soos die biesies,
my hart
en die sterre wat klop
tok-tok liefling,
soos die klein toktokkies
in hul fyn-ver kring.
Wat is sy naam, mammie?
~~
Sy naam is Sjuut
Sy naam is Slaap
Meneer Vergeet
uit die land van Vaak
Sy naam is toe maar
hy heet, my lam
Toe maar, die donker man
Muskietejag moes ek op laerskool leer! Dis was regtig ‘n gedig wat ek baie geniet het! Hy het soveel drama wat jy kan insit met die voordra van hierdie gedig! Muskietejag : A D Keet Jou vabond, wag,
ek sal jou kry,
Van jou sal net ‘n bloedkol bly
Hier op my kamermure.
Deur jou vervloekte gonsery,
Deur jou gebyt en plagery
Kon ek nie slaap vir ure.
Mag ek my voorstel,
eer ons skei,
Eer jy die doodslag van my kry –
My naam is van der Merwe.
Muskiet, wees maar nie treurig nie,
Wees ook nie so kieskeurig nie,
Jy moet tog ééndag sterwe.
Verwekker van malaria,
Sing maar jou laaste aria –
Nog een minuut vir grasie.
Al soebat jy nou nòg so lang,
Al sê jy ook: ek is nie bang,
Nooit sien jy weer jou nasie…
Hoe sedig sit hy, O, die kreng!
Sy kinders kan maar kranse breng,
Nóu gaan die vabond sterwe…Pardoef!
Dis mis! Daar gaan hy weer!
Maar dòòd sal hy, sowaar, ek sweer –
My naam is van der Merwe!
Why do we still listen
to the answers given by the daisies
to the wind to the sun
what has become of the little kokkewiets Behind the closed forehead
where perhaps a twig still tumbles
from a drowned springtime
Behind my word killed in action
Behind our divided home
Behind the heart locked against itself
Behind wire fences, camps, locations
Behind the silence where foreign languages
fall like bells at a funeral
Behind our land torn apart sits the green mantis of the veld
and dazed we still hear
small blue Namaqualand daisy
answering something, believing something, knowing something
This poem was written by C Louis Leipoldt, (1880 – 1947) – a South African poet and you can read an English translation here to, translated by Melissa on her blog…it is one of our best poets we’ve had and this poem is one of my favourites too…do read the English one and enjoy it!
WYS MY DIE PLEK
Wys my die plek waar ons saam gestaan het,
Eens, toe jy myne was –
Vroeër, voor jou liefde vir my getaan het,
Vroeër, toe jy myne was.
Kyk, dis dieselfde;
die silwer see
Blink in die sonskyn,
soos lang verlee
Dit eenmaal geblink het,
‘n welkomsgroet
Vir ons liefde wat uithou en alles vergoed.
~~~
Wys my die plek waar ons saam gekniel het,
Eens, toe jy myne was –
Vroeër, toe een siel vir ons saam besiel het,
Vroeër, toe jy myne was.
Kyk, dis dieselfde; die hemel, blou,
Lag soos voorheen op my en op jou;
Dit skitter nog altyd ‘n welkomsgroet
Vir ons liefde wat uithou en alles vergoed.
~~~
Wys my die plek waar ons saam geloop het,
Eens, toe jy myne was –
Vroeër, toe ons harte so veel gehoop het,
Vroeër, toe jy myne was.
Kyk, dis dieselfde! Net jy nie.
Vra,Wie van ons twee moet die meeste dra ?
Jy wat vergeet het – of ek wat boet
Vir my liefde wat uithou en alles vergoed ?
by C. Louis Leipoldt (ca. 1880 – 1947)
SHOW ME THE PLACE
Show me the place where we stood side by side,
Once, when you were mine –
Earlier, before your love for me died,
Earlier, when you were mine.
Look, it’s the same, the silver sea
Shines in the sun’s rays, just like before
It once shined,
a welcoming
For our love that endured and everything enhanced.
~~~
Show me the place where we knelt together,
Once, when you were mine –
Earlier, when one soul possessed us,
Earlier, when you were mine.
Look, it’s the same, the sky, so blue,
Smiles just as before on me and on you,
It continues to shine as a welcoming
For our love that endures and everything enhances.
Update: This is my post from 1 October 2007…It’s the 1st of October and in the top images you can see what Pretoria, the capital city usually looks like during October! On this link – which will open in a new window – you can see more images.
Leipoldt, C. Louis, 1880-1947 Leipoldt is a South African poet, one of the BEST poets…he describes in this poem the month October. He says October is the most beautiful month…for South Africa, that’s the truth of course if you look at my previous entry’s photos!
C. LOUIS LEIPOLDT
Oktobermaand
Viooltjies in die voorhuis, Viooltjies blou en rooi! Viooltjies orals op die veld, En orals, ai, so mooi!
Dit is die maand Oktober, die mooiste, mooiste maand: Dan is die dag so helder, so groen is elke aand, So blou en sonder wolke die hemel heerlik bo, So blomtuin-vol van kleure die asvaal ou Karoo.
Dit is die maand Oktober: die varkblom is in bloei; Oor al die seekoegate is kafferskuil gegroei; Die koppies, kort gelede nog as ‘n klip so kaal, Het nou vir welkomsgroetnis hul mooiste voorgehaal.
Dit is die maand Oktober: die akkerboom is groen; Die bloekoms langs die paaie is almal nuutgeboen; En orals in die tuin rond ruik jy sering en roos, Jasmyn en katjiepiering, lemoen en appelkoos.
Al was die dag soos yster, lank in die vuur gesteek, Die varings in die klofies deur hitte geel verbleek, Tog as die son daaronder agter die berge gaan, Dan word oor heel die wêreld die mooiste geur geslaan.
Dit is die maand Oktober: die kokewiet is uit; Boomsingertjies en kriekies die hoor jy orals fluit; Fiskaal is op die oorlog: daaronder by die sluis, Daar is ‘n dor ou doringboom sy spens en sy kombuis,
Dit is die maand Oktober: ek dink, die mense vier Vir ewig in die hemel Oktobermaand soos hier! Wat wens jy meer as blomme, as helder dag en nag? Wat kan jy beter, mooier, of heerliker verwag?
Ek is nog in Oktober: my tuin is nog so groen, So wit met al wat mooi is, met bloeisels van lemoen, So pragtig in die môre. so heerlik in die aand! Ek is nog in Oktober, die mooiste, mooiste maand!
Wat gee ek om die winter? Wat praat jy nou van Mei? Wat skeel dit, as ons later weer donker dae kry? Ek is nou in Oktober, die mooiste, mooiste maand, Met elke dag so helder, so pragtig elke aand!
Viooltjies in die voorhuis, Viooltjies blou en rooi! Viooltjies orals op die veld, En orals, ai, so mooi!
Read this newspaper clip below – where an Englishman described how kind the Boers were and that everything that was said in England about the Boers, was not true.
From the Boer War Facebook page
From the Boer War Facebook page
Artist: Ron Wilson….
LW: This post gets updated every now and then – more then than now – when I find more resources and information…new information and links will be added at the bottom of this post. Most links will open in a new window. When you see this link icon – you will know there’s a link to follow up. I hope this helps. I apologise and know it must be very confusing. Please check the bottom of this page for most of the links – without this icon. This post was written 12 years ago! I hope that all links will still be active.
Boer War Diary
The following extracts from a diary, of the authenticity of which we have obtained sufficient assurance, illustrate one aspect of the process of “clearing” tracts of the country occupied by the enemy.
Amsterdam, New Scotland, February 14 1901. This morning, about eight o’clock, the cavalry of the enemy entered the town, the infantry following.
Every garden and tree was stripped of everything. All the livestock was taken. General Campbell arrived; he was very abrupt. He said they, the English, had come to give us food and protection.
Mother replied that we were quite satisfied with the food and protection our own people afforded us. Then he said we were to be ready to leave the following day at 10 a.m.
Feb. 15. Worse than ever. The Provost Marshal, Capt. Daniels entered the house and began searching. They took what they wanted – soap, candles, mealies & c. even to white sewing cotton. When mother came in, Capt. Daniels turned to her and said, ‘Those devils of Boers have been sniping at us again, and your two sons among them, I suppose. If I catch them, they will hang.’
Feb. 17. At dawn Capt. Ballantyne said we would be allowed a quarter of an hour to load, and only to take the most necessary things. Beds, clothing, mattresses, chairs, chests & c., odds and ends of all kinds were burnt. Foodstuffs were also taken. At 9 p.m. we out-spanned in a hard rain. It was pitiful to hear the children crying all night in the wet wagons for water and food.
March 5. Annie very sick. Must be the food, as we have only meat, and mealies (corn) when we can pick them.
March 6. Annie very ill all day. A driving misty rain. Oxen with lung sickness are made to pull until they fall down in the yoke to die.
April 19 [in captivity at Volksrust]. Message that Major Watt, Assistant District Commissioner, wanted to see [Mother] at once. Mother, Annie and Polly Coltzer went with the policeman. Major Watt was in a dreadful rage.
‘You are Mrs. Cameron?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘You are a most dangerous woman, you have been speaking against the British Government. You are an English woman.’ ‘All my sympathies are with the Boers.’ ‘Make a note of that. All the concessions we intended making you will be withdrawn. You will not be allowed to receive any parcels.’
April 25. We received the following: ‘I beg to inform you that you are to proceed to Maritzburg tomorrow by the 11p.m. train. A wagon shall convey your luggage to the station.’
B. R. Cameron, Prisoner of War, May 31 1901. Green Point, Pietermaritzburg, Natal.
“When is a war not a war?” — “When it is carried on by methods of barbarism in South Africa,” referring to those same camps and the policies that created them.
–see my link in this post: “Churchill makes me smile”– for more on this…see bottom of the page for the link.
Image: anglo-boer.co.za
Image: Tararualibrary…Wording on back:
“Boer war 1900 Troops parading prior to their departure.
Site: Cnr Millers Rd and Stanley St Paynes house on the right still there HBF garage on left hand corner”
Above image: HERE on the site of Tararualibrary. The link will open in a new window.
The British controlled government implemented Pass Laws in 1923 paved the way for further restrictions on non-Whites social and political freedoms when Afrikaner-led political parties gained control of the government in 1948 (the birth of Apartheid). This segregation along racial lines has further widened the gap between the White Afrikaans speakers and Coloured Afrikaans speakers…
Source:Diversity South Africa
Since the people were of white European descent, nobody was seriously punished for their part in the war….so…if they were black??
The Boer War shaped the destiny of South Africa and, as Rudyard Kipling remarked, taught the mighty British Empire ‘no end of a lesson’.
It was said to be the last of the ‘gentleman’s wars’, a ‘white man’s war’ and it would be over by Christmas. It was none of these things. The Boer War was brutal, racially explosive and it took the greatest empire in the world nearly three years to beat a Boer army smaller than the population of Brighton.
The Boer War capitulated the world into the 20th Century, prefiguring the worst excesses of modern conflicts: the indiscriminate bombing of civilians, scorched earth, rape, concentration camps. It was a civil war dividing families, communities and races.
It was a bitter conflict between two small Boer nations fighting for their life and freedom and a great empire asserting what it saw as it’s legitimate authority.
I often get people who got directed here – via google – with the search engine term: Boer – well, I would like to suggest you go back to google, put in a search the following: ‘South African farmer[s]‘ – you might like what you’ll see. Good Luck.
THE BOER NATIONS (“boer” is the Dutch word for “farmer”)
Take a community of Dutchmen of the type of those who defended
themselves for fifty years against all the power of Spain at a time
when Spain was the greatest power in the world. Intermix with them a
strain of those inflexible French Huguenots who gave up home and
fortune and left their country for ever at the time of the revocation
of the Edict of Nantes. The product must obviously be one of the most
rugged, virile, unconquerable races ever seen upon earth. Take this
formidable people and train them for seven generations in constant
warfare against savage men and ferocious beasts, in circumstances
under which no weakling could survive, place them so that they acquire
exceptional skill with weapons and in horsemanship, give them a
country which is eminently suited to the tactics of the huntsman, the
marksman, and the rider. Then, finally, put a finer temper upon their
military qualities by a dour fatalistic Old Testament religion and an
ardent and consuming patriotism. Combine all these qualities and all
these impulses in one individual, and you have the modern Boer — the
most formidable antagonist who ever crossed the path of Imperial
Britain. Our military history has largely consisted in our conflicts
with France, but Napoleon and all his veterans have never treated us
so roughly as these hard-bitten farmers with their ancient theology
and their inconveniently modern rifles. See link at the bottom of this page to continue reading… Concentration Camps
In early March 1901 Lord Kitchener decided to break the stalemate that the extremely costly war had settled into. It was costing the British taxpayer 2,5 million pounds a month. He decided to sweep the country bare of everything that can give sustenance to the Boers i.e. cattle, sheep, horses, women and children. This scorched earth policy led to the destruction of about 30000 Boer farmhouses and the partial and complete destruction of more than forty towns.. Thousands of women and children were removed from their homes by force.They had little or no time to remove valuables before the house was burnt down. They were then taken by ox-wagon or in open cattle trucks to the nearest camp.
Conditions in the camps were less than ideal. Tents were overcrowded. Reduced-scale army rations were provided. In fact there were two scales. Meat was not included in the rations issued to women and children whose menfolk were still fighting. There were little or no vegetables, no fresh milk for the babies and children, 3/4 lb of either mealie meal, rice or potatoes, 1 lb of meat twice weekly, I oz of coffee daily, sugar 2 oz daily, and salt 0,5 oz daily (this was for adults and children who had family members on commando).
In the camps – image – photosearch
hmmm….not very nice of them burning down people’s houses, hey… we all know war is war…but…to take away from women and children! That’s really not very humane!
On this next link, you can read extracts from the Parliamentary debates that were going on during the War in the British Parliament…you will see the death numbers too – not sure if that is correct, you know what politics are like…they will of course hide the exact figures as we all know – anyway..children’s deaths are about 10 times more than adults and women were held as prisioners as they were not allowed to leave the camps if they wished too. I’m sure more of the deaths could be prevented if people were not held in the camps. To say they were “fed” is just an excuse! They knew it was the only way to force the Boers to surrender, as the Boers couldn’t let these women and children dying in the camps like sheep on their way to a butcher!
http://www-sul.stanford.edu/depts/ssrg/africa/hansxcv1.html
Concentration Camps
In early March 1901 Lord Kitchener decided to break the stalemate that the extremely costly war had settled into. It was costing the British taxpayer 2,5 million pounds a month. He decided to sweep the country bare of everything that can give sustenance to the Boers i.e. cattle, sheep, horses, women and children. Read more on the link I’ve given you. — What a shame for the Britain! Putting women and children in concentration camps to starve… that’s just as cruel as Hitler’s gass chambers! Killing people in this way when you know you can’t defeat them….And what’s more… Britain has already got more experience in fighting and wars than the South Africans, a small upcoming nation…..Hierdie Engelse sal ook nooit “jammer” se oor wat hulle weet hulle gedoen het nie. Hierdie konsentrasiekampe was vir my net so erg soos die Duitsers met hulle gaskamers! Ek het ‘n boek gekoop by ‘n museum op Lady Smith and daarin lees ook toe die naam raak van ‘n niggie van my ouma wat in ‘n kamp was! As jy die link “great grandad” volg, sal jy verstaan waarom ek so ‘n passie vir die oorlog-geskiedenis het en gedurig weer terugkeer na iets wat daarmee te doen het. Ek sal graag meer kuns en gedigte wil kry om hierdie week te plaas, veral kuns en ek was nogal verbaas om hierdie een van Coetzer te kry. Ek het afgekom op ‘n baie oulike webbladsy van ‘n ou in die USA en ek gaan die link hier plaas, daar is verskillende
Sources: Enslin Vosloo painting…
Ladysmith Town hall image: tokencoins.com/book/boer.htm#zar04
“Duty called the Cordons to South Africa and the plains of the Transvaal to fight the Boers. The Boers were regarded as an easy enemy and naturally would be overcome quickly. Boers were self reliant farmers dressed in civilian khaki suitable for the vast veldt. Most of British Army still favoured red jackets, white pith helmets and Crimean War tactics. Whereas the Boers formed commando groups to move across country swiftly and stealthily living off the land. They were extremely good shots armed with the accurate Mauser rifle and a common cry was Victory through God and the Mauser.”…from the same site as the site where the image comes from…
On THIS LINK you can read more about the War…read these poems too….see more pictures…some very upsetting…the link will open in a new window. C Louis Leipoldt (excerpt)
A poem written by Leipoldt in Afrikaans and it was translated…
You, who are the hope of our people;
You, who our people can barely spare;
You, who should grow up to become a man;
You, who must perform your duty, if you can;
You, who have no part in the war;
You, who should sing and jump for joy –
You must perish in a children’s camp
You must be eliminated for peace:
Fold your hands tight together,
Close your eyes and say amen!
Whooping-cough and consumption, without milk:
bitter for you is the fate of life!
There is your place, at the children’s graves –
Two in one coffin, a wedding couple!
Al you gain is that we will remember:
Our freedom more precious than woman or child!
~~~~~ also the next one…by Leipoldt
In the Concentration Camp
(Aliwal North, 1901) C Louis Leipoldt (excerpt)
You are cringing away from the gusts of the wind
The chill seeping through the hail-torn tent –
Your scanty shield against torturing torrents;
The June chill bursts over the banks of the Vaal –
And all you can hear are the coughs from your child, and the
ceaseless patter of rain on the canvas.
A candle stub, just an inch before death
faintly flickering in a bottle
(a sty offers more comfort and rest)
But here, at night every thought is
a round of torture and tears.
Here, the early-born child flounders
Here, the aged fades away
Here, all you can hear is wailing and sighs
Here, every second is a lifetime of dread;
Every minute leaves scars on your soul, sacrifice without end.
Forgive? Forget? Is it possible to forgive?
The sorrow, the despair demanded so much!
The branding iron painfully left its scar
on our nation, for ages to see, and the wound is too raw –
Too close to our heart and to deep in our souls –
“Patience, o patience, how much can you bear?”
~~~
Leipoldt also wrote heart-breaking verses on a soap box to the memory of children who could at least be buried in this luxury:
Image: http://appiusforum.net/hellkamp.html – where I refer to hellkamp at an image, it refers to this site (update 2019 – site link is dead – don’t bother to visit!) They made you in England, little soap box
To serve as coffin for our children
They found little corpses for you, soap box
And I have witnessed you as coffin
Equally unforgettable is AG Visser’s description of an orphan in the concentration camp in his poem,
The Youngest Burgher:
The camp of women is ruled by silence and darkness
The misery kindly concealed by the night
Here and there a minute light is flickering
Where the Angel of Death is lingering.
In this place of woe and of broken hearts
A young boy’s muffled whimpers quiver through the night
Who can count all the tears, who can measure the grief
of an orphan alone in the world
Later on in the poem De Wet describes the struggle to the escaped child who wishes to join the commando:
Freedom demands from our ranks
Men of courage who taunt mortal danger.
But also in the camp, the mother, the nurturer
And the innocent child on her breast.
And the reward? Perhaps on the plains
A lonesome grave doused by no tears.
Sometime, perhaps, posterity might honour our heroes…
Boy, do you feel up to it? General, I do!
This Afrikaans poem is about a solder that was beheaded…by a bomb.
Die ruiter van Skimmelperdpan
Op die pad wat verdwyn in die Skimmelperdpan,
By ‘n draai in die mond van die kloof,
Het ‘n bom in die oorlog ‘n vlugtende man
Op ‘n perd soos ‘n swaardslag onthoof.
Aan die saalboom krampagtig die hande verstyf,
Met ‘n laaste stuiptrekkende krag,
En die bene geklem soos ‘n skroef om sy lyf,
Op die perd sit die grusame vrag.
Met sy neusgate wyd en die ore op sy nek,
Soos die wind yl verbysterd die dier,
Met die skuim in wit vlokke wat waai uit sy bek,
En gespan soos ‘n draad elke spier;
By die huisie verby waar ‘n vrou staan en kyk …
In die afkopding ken sy haar man …
Met ‘n onaardse geil val sy bleek soos ‘n lyk …
Perd en ruiter verdwyn in die Pan!
Wee die reisiger wat daar onwetend kom skuil
Waar bouvallig die huisie nog staan,
En vreesagtig by wyle ‘n nagdiertjie huil
By die newelige lig van die maan!
Want by middernag waai daar ‘n wind deur die kloof,
Waai en huil soos ‘n kindjie wat kerm,
En dan jaag daar ‘n perd met ‘n man sonder hoof …
Wie dit sien, roep verskrik: “Heer, ontferm!”
Want die vuurvonke spat waar die hoefslae dreun,
En dit vlam uit sy neus en sy oog;
Styf en stram sit die ruiter na vore geleun,
En die bloed uit sy nek spuit ‘n boog;
En dan eensklaps van uit die vervalle gebou
Kom ‘n vreeslike skrikbeeld gevaar,
Al die hare orent – ‘n waansinnige vrou
Met ‘n hande-wringend gebaar:
“Waarom rus jy nie, rus jy nie, Jan van der Meer?
Waarom jaag jy my elke nag op?
Sal daar nimmer ‘n einde kom … altyd maar weer
Die galop … die galop … die galop?!”
Die afgryslike klank – nog gehuil nog gelag –
En die perd met die romp van ‘n man …!
Dis geen plek vir ‘n Christenmens daar in die nag
Langs die pad na die Skimmelperdpan!
A.G. Visser
Uit: Die Purper Iris.
Slagveld – Majuba
So sing die jonges vol van vreugde,
maar ag, oom Gert se hart is seer
as hy straks diep en dieper peinsend
gaan langs die slagveld van weleer.
Dáár lê Majuba, donker kleurig,
sy sye een en al terras;
dis of die berg van alle eeue
vir wonderdaad geskape was.
Daar lê Laingsnek; dis of Gods hande
dit vir ‘n skanswerk uit wou bou.
En daar’s Ingogo’s kronkelbedding—
net om die vyand op te hou.
Daar’s nog die wonderlike hoeke,
net om die vyand vas te keer;
maar ag, oom Gert voel nou so anders,
sy hart is onverklaarbaar seer.
Hy sien nou oral groot kanonne,
hy weet nie of die ding sal gaan.
Die treine voer nou alle soorte
van wapens uit die hoofstad aan.
Daar is hom ook so baie mense,
en baie goed word aangevoer;
voorheen was daar so min maar nodig:
‘n ryperd, biltong en ‘n roer.
Dis nodig, ja, die tyd die vorder,
en daarom swyg hy maar en kyk.
Maar heel die Amajuba-wêreld,
alles wil hom so anders lyk.
Tog leef hy weer, die troue krygsman,
al trek hy nou maar same net:
‘n oorlogsperd die stamp en runnik
wanneer hy hoor die krygstrompet!
Uit Goue Gode…XV : Verse van Totius
C. Louis Leipoldt: DIE KOPERKAPEL Die koperkapel kom uit sy gat
En sluip die randjie rond:
“Dit het gereën; die veld is nat,
En nat is die rooi-geel grond.”
Die meerkat kom, en sy ogies blink,
En hy staan orent en wag.
En die stokou ystervark sê: “Ek dink
Die reën kom weer vannag.”
Maar die geitjie piep: “Dis glad nie reën!
Dis kollerig, swart en rooi:
Kom jy sulke reën in jou lewe teen –
So glad, so styf, so mooi?”
En die wyse steenuil waag sy woord:
“Dis bloed, dis mensebloed!
Dis die lewensbloed wat hierdie oord
Se bossie-wortels voed!”
Wittekind in die Konsentrasiekamp
(Aliwal Noord, 1901) O, pazienza, pazienza che tanto sostieni! Dante. Jou oê is nat met die trane van gister; Jou siel is gemartel, deur smarte gepla; Van vrede en pret was jy vroër ‘n verkwister; En nou, wat bly oor van jou rykdomme? Ja, ‘n Spreekwoord tot steun–daar’s geen trooswoord beslister: “Geduld, o geduld, wat so baie kan dra! Hier sit jy te koes teen die wind, wat daar suie Yskoud deur die tentseil, geskeur deur die hael– Jou enigste skuil in die nag teen die buie; Die Junielug stort oor die stroom van die Vaal– Jy hoor net die hoes van jou kind, en die luie Gedrup van die reendruppeltjies oor die paal. ‘n Kers, nog maar anderhalf duim, voor hy sterwe, Brand dof in ‘n bottel hier vlak naas jou bed. (‘n Kafhuis gee makliker rus: op die gerwe Daar lê ‘n mens sag, en sy slaap is gered!) En hier in die nag laat jou drome jou swerwe ‘n Aaklige rondte met trane besmet. Hier struikel die kind, wat te vroeg was gebore; Hier sterwe die oumens, te swak vir die stryd; Hier kom ‘n gekerm en gekreun in jou ore; Hier tel jy met angs elke tik van die tyd; Want elke sekond van die smart laat sy spore Gedruk op jou hart, deur ‘n offer gewyd. En deur elke skeur in die seil kan jy duister Die wolke bespeur oor die hemel verbrei; Geen ster skyn as gids; na geen stem kan jy luister– (Eentonig die hoes van jou kind aan jou sy!) Wat sag deur die wind in jou ore kom fluister: “Geduld, o geduld, wat so baie kan ly! Vergewe? Vergeet? Is dit maklik vergewe? Die smarte, die angs, het so baie gepla! Die yster het gloeiend ‘n merk vir die eeue Gebrand op ons volk, en die wond is te na, Te na aan ons hart en te diep in ons lewe– “Geduld, o geduld, wat so baie kan dra!” Uit: Oom Gert Vertel en Ander Gedigte, C. Louis Leipoldt, Uitg. Mij. v/h. J. Dusseau & Co, Kaapstad 1921
Images..:south-africa-tours-and-travel.com
Read on THIS LINK about Jan Smuts. The link will open in a new window.
The title of a painting,” said Marcel Duchamp, “is another colour on the artist’s palette.” He also talked of treating the title “like an invisible colour”. Duchamp’s remarks were part of his ongoing argument with the art of painting…………………………….
The painting shows – well, what it obviously doesn’t show is the Boer War, or any individual episode from Britain’s Imperial war in South Africa, which had ended the year before this picture was painted. But the likely link between words and image isn’t hard to find. A lone woman stands by a stream at the bottom of a field or garden. She was the fiance or wife or sister of a man killed in the war. She’s lately heard the news, and gone off on her own. Or she’s been in mourning some time, but the place – this is where they used to walk, and never will again – calls out a sudden pang of memory and grief.
The Boer War is her back story, then, her motivation, the reason for her state of mind. It is the content of her invisible thought bubble. It is, in a sense, a perfectly straight descriptive title for this picture. For how do you show the Boer War except by depicting scenes from the war? And why shouldn’t those scenes include, not only battlefields and sieges, but also the scenes of bereavement and desolation that were the immediate consequence back home?
Read the complete article… HERE …. This next poem was written by Totius and it’s about the Afrikaner nation/Afrikaans that was stepped upon/damaged by the English and his message in this poem for the Afrikaner nation/Afrikaans is: “you’re strong, you will get up again, you will be a strong nation again and you should forgive what was done to you. The scars will be there, but you should grow to be strong again.”… a very deep poem… Vergewe en vergeet
Daar het ‘n doringboompie
vlak by die pad gestaan,
waar lange ossespanne
met sware vragte gaan.
En eendag kom daarlanges
‘n ossewa verby,
wat met sy sware wiele
dwars-oor die boompie ry.
“Jy het mos, doringstruikie,
my ander dag gekrap;
en daarom het my wiele
jou kroontjie platgetrap.”
Die ossewa verdwyn weer
agter ‘n heuweltop,
en langsaam buig die boompie
sy stammetjie weer op.
Sy skoonheid was geskonde;
sy bassies was geskeur;
op een plek was die stammetjie
so amper middeldeur.
Maar tog het daardie boompie
weer stadig reggekom,
want oor sy wonde druppel
die salf van eie gom.
Ook het die loop van jare
die wonde weggewis –
net een plek byl ‘n teken
wat onuitwisbaar is. Die wonde word gesond weer
as jare kom en gaan,
maar daardie merk word groter
en groei maar aldeur aan.
Totius The Concentration Camps
1. Introduction The concentration camps in which Britain killed 27,000 Boer women and children (24,000) during the Second War of Independence (1899 – 1902) today still have far-reaching effects on the existence of the Boerevolk. This holocaust once more enjoyed close scrutiny during the visit of the queen of England to South Africa, when ten organizations promoting the independence of the Boer Republics, presented her with a message, demanding that England redress the wrongs committed against the Boerevolk.
Women and children in the camps – image:hellkamp
2. Background The Second War of Independence was fought from 1899 to 1902 when England laid her hands on the mineral riches of the Zuid-Afrikaansche Republiek (Transvaal) under the false pretence of protecting the rights of the foreigners who swarmed to the Transvaal gold fields. On the battlefield England failed to get the better of the Boers, and decided to stoop to a full-scale war against the Boer women and children, employing a holocaust to force the burghers to surrender. 3. Course of the holocaust 3.1. The war against women and children begins Under the command of Kitchener, Milner and Roberts, more than homesteads and farms belonging to Boer people were plundered and burned down. Animals belonging to the Boers were killed in the cruellest ways possible while the women, whose men were on the battlefield, had to watch helplessly.
Leaving sheep to rotten – image: hellkamp
The motive behind this action was the destruction of the farms in order to prevent the fighting burghers from obtaining food, and to demoralize the Boers by leaving their women and children homeless on the open veld.
Before the blast – images:hellkamp
The Blast
After the blast
Destroyed for king and country
However, England misjudged the steel of the Boer people. Despite their desperate circumstances, the women and children managed to survive fairly well in the open and their men continued their fight against the invader.
Women and children on the run…away from the English
More severe measures had to be taken. The English hoarded the Boer women and children into open cattle trucks or drove them on foot to concentration camps.
3.2. False pretences
To the world England pretended to act very humanely by caring for the fighting Boers’ women and children in “refugee camps”. An English school textbook published in 1914 in Johannesburg, but printed in England, Historical Geography: South Africa, by JR Fisher, makes the following claim:
“During the later stages of the war, the relations, women and
children, of those Boers still in the field, were fed and cared
for at the expense of Great Britain, a method of procedure which,
though humane, postponed the end of the war, at the expense of
many valuable lives and much money.”
This statement is contradicted by various sources. The Cape Argus of 21 June 1900 clearly states that the destitution of these women and children was the result of the English’s plundering of farms: “Within 10 miles we (the English) burned not less than six farm homesteads. Between 30 and 40 homesteads were burned and totally destroyed between Bloemfontein and Boshoff. Many others were also burned down. With their houses destroyed, the women and children were left in the bitter South African winter in the open.” The British history text book says nothing about this.
Awfully generous of the English to care for those whose houses they destroyed!
Breytenbach writes in Danie Theron: “The destruction was undertaken in a diabolic way and even Mrs Prinsloo, a 22 year old lady who gave birth to a baby only 24 hours ago in the house of Van Niekerk, was not spared. A group of rude tommies (British soldiers), amongst whom a so-called English doctor, forced their way into her room, and after making a pretence of examining her, they drove her out of the house. With the aid of her sister, she managed to don a few articles of clothing and left the house. Her mother brought a blanket to protect her against the cold. The soldiers robustly jerked the blanket out of her mother’s hands and after having looted whatever they wanted to, put the house to fire. Afterwards the old man was driven on foot to Kroonstad by mounted kakies (British soldiers), while his wife and daughter (Mrs Prinsloo) were left destitute on the scorched farm.”
England’s claim of caring for the Boer women reminds one of somebody who boasts to have saved the life of someone he himself has pushed into the water. However, there is one vital difference: The holocaust on the Boer women and children began in all earnest once they had been forced into the concentration camps under the “care” of the British!
Family at the beginning – newly arrived with tea and bread (Nasty English Propaganda)
Despite the English claims that the concentration camps were “voluntary refugee camps” the following questions must be asked:
– From whom did the refugees flee? Certainly not from their own husbands and sons!
– How can the fact that the “voluntary” women and children had to be dragged to the concentration camps by force be explained?
– Why should the “voluntary refugee camps” be enclosed by barbed wire fences and the inmates be overseen by armed wardens? Kimberley camp had a five meter high barbed wire fence and some camps even had two or three fences!
– Why would one of the camp commanders make the following statement quoted by Emily Hobhouse: “The wardens were under orders not to interfere with the inmates, unless they should try to escape.”? What kind of “voluntary refugee” would want to escape?
Perhaps the words of the Welsh William Redmond are closer to the truth: “The way in which these wretched, unfortunate and poor women and children are treated in South Africa is barbarous, outrageous, scandalous and disgraceful.”
3.3. Planning for death
The English claim of decent actions towards the Boer women and children are further contradicted by the location of the concentration camps. The military authorities, who often had to plan and erect camps for their soldiers, would certainly have been well aware of the essential requirements for such camps. Yet the concentration camps were established in the most unsuitable locations possible.
Boer-family in the camps
At Standerton the camp was erected on both banks of the Vaal River. It was on the Highveld, which ensured that it was extremely cold in winter and infested with mosquitoes in summer. The fact that Standerton had turf soil and a high rainfall, ensured that the camp was one big mud bath in summer, even inside the tents.
The same circumstances were experienced in camps such as Brandfort, Springfontein and Orange River. At Pretoria, the Irene Camp was located at the chilly southern side of the town, while the northern side had a much more favourable climate. Balmoral, Middelburg and other camps were also located on the south-eastern hangs of the hills to ensure that the inhabitants were exposed to the icy south easterly winds.
Merebank camp was located in a swamp where there was an abundance of various kinds of insects. Water oozed out of the ground, ensuring that everything was constantly wet and slimy.
By October 1900 there were already 58 883 people in concentration camps in Transvaal and 45 306 in the Free State.
The amenities in the camps were clearly planned to kill as many of the women and children as possible. They were accommodated in tattered reject tents which offered no protection against the elements.
Emily Hobhouse, the Cornish lady who campaigned for better conditions for the Boer women, wrote: “Throughout the night there was a downpour. Puddles of water were everywhere. They tried to get themselves and their possessions dry on the soaked ground.”
(Hobhouse: Brunt of the War, page 169.)
Dr Kendal Franks reports on the Irene Camp: “In one of the tents there were three families; parents and children, a total of 14 people and all were suffering from measles.”
In Springfontein camp, 19 to 20 people where crammed into one tent.
There were neither beds nor mattresses and nearly the whole camp population had to sleep on the bare ground, which was damp most of the time.
One person wrote the following plea for aid to the New York Herald: “In the name of small children who have to sleep in open tents without fire, with barely any clothes, I plea for help.”
According to a British journalist, WT Stead, the concentration camps were nothing more than a cruel torture machine. He writes: “Every one of these children who died as a result of the halving of their rations, thereby exerting pressure onto their family still on the battle-field, was purposefully murdered. The system of half rations stands exposed and stark and unshamefully as a cold-blooded deed of state policy employed with the purpose of ensuring the surrender of people whom we were not able to defeat on the battlefield.”
3.4. Let them die of hunger
The detainees received no fruit or vegetables; not even milk for the babies.
The meat and flour issued were crawling with maggots. Emily Hobhouse writes: “I have in my possession coffee and sugar which were described as follows by a London analyst: In the case of the first, 66% imitation, and in the case of the second, sweepings from a warehouse.”
In her book, Met die Boere in die Veld (With the Boers in the field), Sara Raal states that “there were poisonous sulphate of copper, grounded glass, fishhooks, and razor blades in the rations.” The evidence given on this fact is so overwhelming that it must be regarded as a historical fact.
3.5. No hygiene
The outbreak of disease and epidemics in the camps were further promoted by, inter alia, the lack of sanitary conveniences. Bloemfontein camp had only 13 toilets for more than 3 500 people. Aliwal North camp had one toilet for every 170 people.
A British physician, Dr Henry Becker, writes: “First, they chose an ill-suited site for the camp. Then they supplied so little water that the people could neither wash themselves nor their clothes. Furthermore, they made no provision for sufficient waste removal. And lastly, they did not provide enough toilets for the overpopulation they had crammed into the camps.”
A report on a Ladies’ Committee’s visit to Bloemfontein camp stated: “They saw how the women tried to wash clothes in small puddles of water and sometimes had to use the water more than once.”
3.6. Hospitals of homicide
Ill and healthy people were crammed together into unventilated areas conducive to the spreading of disease and epidemics. At first there were no medical amenities whatsoever in the camps.
Foodline
Later doctors were appointed, but too few. In Johannesburg there was one doctor for every 4 000 afflicted patients.
A report on the Irene camp states that, out of a population of 1325 detainees, 154 were ill and 20 had died during the previous week. Still this camp had only one doctor and no hospital.
In some camps matters were even worse. The large Bloemfontein camp did not have a single doctor; only one nurse who could not possibly cope with the conditions. During a visit to Norvalspont camp Emily Hobhouse could not even find a trained nurse.
The later appointment of medical personnel did not improve the conditions. They were appointed for their loyalty towards the British invasion; not for their medical capability. They maltreated the Boere.
Emily Hobhouse tells the story of the young Lizzie van Zyl who died in the Bloemfontein concentration camp: “She was a frail, weak little child in desperate need of good care. Yet, because her mother was one of the ‘undesirables’ due to the fact that her father neither surrendered nor betrayed his people, Lizzie was placed on the lowest rations and so perished with hunger that, after a month in the camp, she was transferred to the new small hospital. Here she was treated harshly. The English disposed doctor and his nurses did not understand her language and, as she could not speak English, labeled her an idiot although she was mentally fit and normal. One day she dejectedly started calling: Mother! Mother! I want to go to my mother! One Mrs Botha walked over to her to console her. She was just telling the child that she would soon see her mother again, when she was brusquely interrupted by one of the nurses who told her not to interfere with the child as she was a nuisance.” Shortly afterwards, Lizzie van Zyl died.
Treu, a medical assistant in the Johannesburg concentration camp, stated that patients were bullied and even lashed with a strap.
Ill people who were taken to the camp hospitals were as good as dead. One woman declared: “We fear the hospitals more than death.”
The following two reports should give an idea of the inefficiency of the camp hospitals: “Often people suffering from a minor ailment were violently removed from the tents of protesting mothers or family members to be taken to hospital. After a few days they were more often than not carried to the grave.”
“Should a child leave the hospital alive, it was simply a miracle.”
(Both quotations from Stemme uit die Verlede – a collection of sworn statements by women who were detained in the concentration camps during the Second War of Independence.)
3.7. The highest sacrifice
In total 27 000 women and children made the highest sacrifice in the British hell camps during the struggle for the freedom of the Boerevolk.
Mrs Helen Harris, who paid a visit to the Potchefstroom concentration camp, stated: “Imagine a one year old baby who receives no milk; who has to drink water or coffee – there is no doubt that this is the cause of the poor health of the children.”
Should one take note of the fact that it were the English who killed the Boers’ cattle with bayonets, thereby depriving the children of their food sources, then the high fatality rate does not seem to be incidental.
Despite shocking fatality figures in the concentration camps, the English did nothing to improve the situation, and the English public remained deaf to the lamentations in the concentration camps as thousands of people, especially children, were carried to their graves.
The Welshman, Lloyd George, stated: “The fatality rate of our soldiers on the battlefields, who were exposed to all the risks of war, was 52 per thousand per year, while the fatalities of women and children in the camps were 450 per thousand per year. We have no right to put women and children into such a position.”
An Irishman, Dillon, said: “I can produce and endless succession of confirmations that the conditions in most of the camps are appalling and brutal. To my opinion the fatality rate is nothing less than cold-blooded murder.”
One European had the following comment on England’s conduct with the concentration camps: “Great Britain cannot win her battles without resorting to the despicable cowardice of the most loathsome cure on earth – the act of striking at a brave man’s heart through his wife’s honor and his child’s life.”
The barbarisms of the English is strongly evidenced by the way in which they unceremoniously threw the corpses of children in heaps on mule carts to be transported to the cemeteries. The mourning mothers had to follow on foot. Due to illness or fatigue many of them could not follow fast enough and had to miss the funerals of their children.
According to PF Bruwer, author of Vir Volk en Vryheid, all the facts point out that the concentration camps, also known as the hell camps, were a calculated and deliberate effort by England to commit a holocaust on the Boerevolk
4. Consequences
4.1. “Peace”
As a direct result of the concentration camps, the “Peace Treaty” of Vereeniging was signed, according to which the Boer Republics came under British rule.
4.2. Called up by the enemy
It is a bitter irony that during World War I England laid claim to the same boys who survived the concentration camps to fight against Germany, which was well-disposed towards the Boerevolk.
Thereby they had to lay their lives upon the line for the second time to the benefit of England.
Kroniek van die Kampkinders (Chronicle of the camp children) by HS van Blerk describes how, after World War I, this generation were, in addition, kept out of the labor force and how they were impoverished – all simply because they were Boers.
4.3. Immortalised in our literature
In this modern world it seems as if few people realize the hardships our forefathers had to endure in order to lose our freedom only without forfeiting the honor of our people.
Therefore, it is proper to look at the reflection of the concentration camps in our literature, where the nobility of our forefathers is immortalized.
4.4. We may not forget
In total there were 31 concentration camps. In most cases, the adjoining cemeteries are in still in existence and are visited as often as possible by Boer people to mentally condition themselves to continue their struggle towards freedom.
There were concentration camps at: Irene, Barberton, Volksrust, Belfast, Klerksdorp, Pietersburg, Potchefstroom, Vereeniging, Turffontein, Balmoral, Nylstroom, Standerton, Heilbron, Kimberley, Bloemfontein, Middelburg, Kroonstad, Heidelberg, Krugersdorp, Vryburg, Vredefort, Brandfort, Springfontein, Bethulie, Norvalspont, Port Elizabeth, Aliwal North, Merebank, Pinetown, Howick and Pietermaritzburg.
4.5. Pillars of support
Amidst all the misery brought upon our people by the English, there were pillars of support: firstly the certainty that our cause was just and fair and based upon faith. However, there also were people who made major sacrifices in an effort to ease the burden of Boer women and children.
No study of the concentration camps could possibly be complete without mention of the name of Emily Hobhouse. This Cornish lady was a symbol of light and decency for Boer women and children.
Emily Hobhouse did everything within her power to assist the women and children. As a result of her efforts to persuade the invaders towards an attitude of humanity and reason, she was banned from South Africa by the British authorities.
However, the Boerevolk remains grateful towards Emily Hobhouse for her efforts and her remains are resting in a place of honor under the Women’s Monument in Bloemfontein.
Other people who spoke out against the barbaric methods of England were: J Ellis (Irish), Lloyd George (Welsh), CP Scott (Scottish), William Redmond (Welsh) and Ramsey McDonald (Scottish).
5. Effects
Today, the numbers of the Boerevolk are at least 3 million less that it would have been, had the English not committed genocide on the Boerevolk. This robs our people of our right to self-determination in the new so-called democratic system. (In truth, democracy means government by the people and not government by the rabble as is presently the case in South Africa.”)
The holocaust, together with treason committed by Afrikaners (take note: not Boere) such as Jan Smuts and Louis Botha, forced the Boerevolk to sign the peace accord of Vereeniging which deprived our volk of its freedom.
The alien and inferior British culture was forced onto our people.
The various indigenous peoples of South Africa were insensitively bundled into one Union without giving a thought to their respective identities and right to self-determination.
As in the case of the Boerevolk, the local black nations were effectively robbed of their freedom, which gave rise to the establishment of the ANC in 1912 (two years after the foundation of the Union) to struggle for black nationalism.
The British system of apartheid, which they applied all over the world (for instance also in India, Australia and New-Zealand), had to be imported to control the mixed population. The first manifestation of this were signs reading “Europeans” and “Non-Europeans”. No Boer ever regarded himself as a “European”. Apartheid invoked racial friction and even racial hatred which has in no means abated to this very day, and the bitter irony is that the Boerevolk, who had not been in power since 1902 and who also suffered severely under apartheid in the sense that apartheid robbed them of their land and their work-ethics, are being blamed for apartheid today.
England’s pretence for the invasion was the rights of the foreign miners. Yet after the war, these very same miners were treated so badly by their English and Jewish bosses that they had to resort to general strikes in 1913 and 1922 (3 and 12 years after the establishment of the British ruled Union), during which many mine-workers were shot dead in the streets of Johannesburg by the British disposed Union government. So much for the rights of the foreign miners under English rule.
The efficient and equitable republican system of government of the Boer Republics was replaced with the unworkable Westminster system of government, which led to endless misery and conflict. 6. Summation
The concentration camps were a calculated and intentional holocaust committed on the Boerevolk by England with the aim of annihilating the Boerevolk and reeling in the Boer Republics.
Comparing the killing of Jews during World War 2, proportionately fewer Jews were killed than Boer women and children during the Second War of Independence.
Yet, after World War 2, England mercilessly insisted on a frantic retribution campaign against the whole German nation for the purported Jewish holocaust. To this day, Germany is being forced to pay annual compensation to the Jews, which means that Germans who were not even born at the time of World War 2, still have to suffer today for alleged atrocities committed by the Germans. Should England subject herself to the same principles applied to Germany, then England must do everything within her power to reinstitute the Boer republics and to pay annual compensation to the Boerevolk for the atrocities committed against the Boerevolk.
“Their only crime was that they stood between England and the gold of Transvaal.”
Sources
http://www.boer.co.za/boerwar/hellkamp.htm
Message of Vryheidsaksie Boererepublieke to the queen of England.
Mediadienste. –1995–P 1 – 7.
Suid-Afrikaanse en Algemene Geskiedenis vir Senior Matriek, (Tweede Uitgawe) by BG Lindeque. Juta —1948– Pp 235, 239, 240, 249 – 258, 268 – 272.
Juta se Nuwe Geskiedenisleesboeke vir primêre Skole, Standerd IV by Alice Jenner. Juta. (Date of publication unknown) Pp 41, 42, 49 – 54.
Russia and the Anglo-Boer War 1899 – 1902 by Elisaveta Kandyba- Foxcroft. CUM Roodepoort. –1981– P 254.
Vir Volk en Vryheid by PF Bruwer. Oranjewerkers Promosies. –1988– Pp 346, 348, 407, 411 – 413, 416 – 455.
Die Laaste Veldslag by Franz Conradie. Daan Retief Publishers. —1981—Pp 62, 77, 78, 83, 123 – 126, 129 – 132.
Historical Geography of South Africa. Special edition for Standard III of South African Schools edited by F Handel Thompson. Henry Frowde, Oxford University Press, Hodder & Stoughton, Warwick Square EC. –1914– Pp 160, 165, 167 – 168.
Gewapende Protes by PG Hendriks. Oranjewerkers Promosies. –1988–Pp 8, 11, 12, 21, 24, 27, 29, 30, 46, 53 – 62, 94, 95.
Kroniek van die Kampkinders by HS van Blerk. Oranjewerkers Promosies. –1989– Pp 35 – 38, 49, 65 – 67, 70, 74, 75, 152.
From Van Riebeeck to Vorster 1652 – 1974. An Introduction to the History of the Republic of South Africa by FA van Jaarsveld.Perskor.—1975—Pp 197, 199, 202 – 205, 209, 217 – 220, 253.
Vyftig Gedigte van C Louis Leipoldt, ‘n keur deur WEG Louw. Tafelberg Publishers. (First edition 1946–Pp 19 – 23.
Gedigte by AG Visser (third print). JL van Schaik. –1928– Pp 57 -61.
Family narrations as recounted since the Second War of Independence from generation to generation. (Author’s great-great-grandmother was detained and tortured in the concentration camp at Heilbron.) Source …….. http://appiusforum.net/hellkamp.html[if the link doesn’t open on this link, type “hellkamp.html” in after the main url and you will find the actual link of the Source]
Recently a kind lady from Louisiana mailed me a copy of the “History of the Boers in South Africa,” written in 1887 by a Canadian missionary with no political axe to grind: namely George McCall Theal.
It contains a map showing the territories which were being farmed by the Boers: from the Olifants/Limpopo rivers in the north to below the Orange River in the South (Colesburg).
It shows the names of the towns they had started wihich carried names such as Lydenburg, ( Place of Suffering) Vryheid, ( Place of Freedom) Pietermaritzburg, (named after the famous Voortrekker leader) Pilippolis and Bethulie, (named after their beloved Bible) and Potchefstroom, Rustenburg, Winburg and Bloemfontein… as they Trekked, the Boers named the map of South Africa, and many of its vegetation and wildlife as well.
All these Boer names are now being wiped off the map of South Africa in one fell swoop by the ANC-regime — even though the Boers’ official history had ended in 1902, long before the elitist-Afrikaners who ran the secret Afrikaner Broederbond cabal had started apartheid in 1948.
Yet this is not the first time that the Boers are facing such an ethnic cleansing campaign by a nation which is hell-bent to remove their very rights to exist in South Africa – this is actually already the third time in Boer history.
The first time the British tried to eradicate them from the map of South Africa with their vicious war and their even more vicious concentration camps where many tens of thousands of Boer women, children and elderly starved to death within just a few months.
After this first genocide to target the Boer nation, their descendants still managed to cling to their identity for at least another generation – until …..
Drummer Hodge ~Thomas Hardy
They throw in Drummer Hodge, to rest
Uncoffined – just as found:
His landmark is a kopje-crest
That breaks the veldt around;
And foreign constellations west
Each night above his mound.
Young Hodge the Drummer never knew –
Fresh from his Wessex home –
The meaning of the broad Karoo,
The Bush, the dusty loam,
And why uprose to nightly view
Strange stars amid the gloam.
Yet portion of that unknown plain
Will Hodge forever be;
His homely Northern breast and brain
Grow to some Southern tree,
And strange-eyed constellation reign
His stars eternally.
Boer War and the movies…
Sean Mathias is directing Colossus, based on Ann Harries’ Manly Pursuits, a novel about the Boer War. According to The Hollywood Reporter, the film’s scored a pretty impressive cast, considering that its budget is a relatively small $15 million: Colin Firth, Rachel Weisz, Ian McKellen and Susan Sarandon are all on-board. Though it’s not yet been announced which roles the stars will play, the movie “tells of ailing arch-colonist Cecil Rhodes’ [probably McKellen] belief that he can only recover his health if he can hear the sound of English song birds outside his window in Cape Town.” Get this: Someone is sent from England with 500 freaking songbirds. When he gets there, he falls in love and decides he needs to stop the Boer War from happening. Ah, if only all men in love would immediately resolve to end wars — what a lovely world this would be.
Source:
Please click HERE for the Gutenberg-files about the Boer Women during the War and then click on this file-number: files/20194/ Click HERE for a list of Africana books about the war, there’s a list of about 177…English as well as Afrikaans.
Available below is a 1901 recording of the Boer War sentimental favourite Goodbye Dolly Gray. An extract of the song’s lyrics are also provided.
The song was written by Will D. Cobb (lyrics) and Paul Barnes (music). Although it gained widespread fame during the Boer War it had earlier been sung in the U.S. during the U.S.-Spanish War of 1898. The song saw renewed airings with the onset of the First World War in 1914.
Listen to the song here:
Goodbye Dolly Gray
I have come to say goodbye, Dolly Gray,
It’s no use to ask me why, Dolly Gray,
There’s a murmur in the air, you can hear it everywhere,
It’s the time to do and dare, Dolly Gray.
So if you hear the sound of feet, Dolly Gray,
Sounding through the village street, Dolly Gray,
It’s the tramp of soldiers’ true in their uniforms so blue,
I must say goodbye to you, Dolly Gray.
Goodbye Dolly I must leave you, though it breaks my heart to go,
Something tells me I am needed at the front to fight the foe,
See – the boys in blue are marching and I can no longer stay,
Hark – I hear the bugle calling, goodbye Dolly Gray.
Image and caption: nzhistory.net.nz/media/photo/boer-soldiers-posing
General Joubert’s unit of Boer soldiers and their African servant stop for lunch at Newcastle, Natal, less than a week after war was declared in 1899. Several of the soldiers are leaning against Dr Visser’s travelling medical wagon. Photographed by Robert Gell, 17 October 1899.
British tactics during the South African War included the burning of farmhouses and destruction of livestock so that they would not fall into the hands of Boer commandos. Here members of New Zealand’s Seventh Contingent pose with the carcasses of chickens and sheep.
Fashion could be important, even out on the veldt, as the garments of these Boer women suggest. Photographed by Rough Rider John McGrath
Drummer Hodge…poetry of the Anglo-Boer War.
Drummer Hodge: Poetry of the Boer War—van Wyk Smith, M.
Clarendon Press, Oxford 1978
ISBN: 0198120826 Source: elizabethsbookshop.com.au
These people were as near akin to us as any race which is not
our own. They were of the same Frisian stock which peopled our own
shores. In habit of mind, in religion, in respect for law, they
were as ourselves. Brave, too, they were, and hospitable, with
those sporting instincts which are dear to the Anglo-Celtic race.
There was no people in the world who had more qualities which we
might admire, and not the least of them was that love of
independence which it is our proudest boast that we have encouraged
in others as well as exercised ourselves.Source:
The title of a painting,” said Marcel Duchamp, “is another colour on the artist’s palette.” He also talked of treating the title “like an invisible colour”. Duchamp’s remarks were part of his ongoing argument with the art of painting. His point was that painting should not be understood as a purely visual or optical or (to use his favourite jibe), “retinal” art. That was the state to which Impressionism had reduced it. But painting should mobilise all its resources of meaning, among them the title. This verbal component shouldn’t be neutrally descriptive, nor be seen as something extraneous. It could be an integral effect, like another colour.
Comparing titles to colours was, of course, provocative, because colour is often considered the least verbal, the most inarticulate and untranslatable factor in a painting. But Duchamp’s phrase is more than a tease. It suggests that the title should be liberated. It should be used, not as a caption that presides over the whole picture, but as one more ingredient in the mixture, an active element in the picture’s drama.
Titles were to be given free play. Duchamp’s own were often spectacularly lateral, puzzles and mini-poems in their own right. There was Tum’. There was The Bride Stripped Bare by her Bachelors, Even. And other 20thcentury artists, Dadaist, surreal, abstract, conceptual, took up the challenge, putting the oblique title through all its possible paces.
But the device itself was not the invention of modern art. In the 19th century, while Impressionism flourished in France, another kind of painting had sprung up in England, which would later be criticised, not as “retinal”, but on the contrary as “anecdotal”. In the works of the pre-Raphaelites and their contemporaries, the title of the picture was often made to do crucial extra business.
The Last of England, The First Cloud, The Awakening Conscience, Our English Coasts – these titles are vital ingredients. They introduce story, symbolism, state of mind and always something more or something other than what the picture shows. They make the viewer’s mind jump from the image to an idea behind or beyond the image. And sometimes the jump itself, the sense of distance between the title and the rest of the picture, is where the work’s real power lies.
John Byam Shaw’s The Boer War is far from being a great work. But it’s a work that understands the rich possibilities of the oblique title. The ways that its title performs in the viewer’s mind, both connecting and disconnecting to the image, makes it a kind of masterpiece.
The painting shows – well, what it obviously doesn’t show is the Boer War, or any individual episode from Britain’s Imperial war in South Africa, which had ended the year before this picture was painted. But the likely link between words and image isn’t hard to find. A lone woman stands by a stream at the bottom of a field or garden. She was the fiancée or wife or sister of a man killed in the war. She’s lately heard the news, and gone off on her own. Or she’s been in mourning some time, but the place – this is where they used to walk, and never will again – calls out a sudden pang of memory and grief.
The Boer War is her back story, then, her motivation, the reason for her state of mind. It is the content of her invisible thought bubble. It is, in a sense, a perfectly straight descriptive title for this picture. For how do you show the Boer War except by depicting scenes from the war? And why shouldn’t those scenes include, not only battlefields and sieges, but also the scenes of bereavement and desolation that were the immediate consequence back home?
So the title fits. But at the same time, clearly, we’re to feel a great rupture and estrangement between those words, The Boer War, and the scene before us. And this distance can stand for and stress the various other distances – geographic, experiential – that the work evokes.
There is the distance between peace and war. There is the distance between the green English countryside and the dusty South African veldt. There is the distance between the woman and the man who was absent far away and is now absolutely dead and gone. There is the distance between the woman, with her mind fixed on loss and death, and the burgeoning natural world around her – further emphasised by the way her figure slightly sticks out against the landscape like a piece of collage.
The classic pre-Raphaelite manner of Byam Shaw’s painting, with its manic eye for the proliferating detail of nature, contributes to this effect. You can see it as how the woman herself sees her surroundings. Shock and grief can cause the mind to become blankly transfixed by the minutiae of the physical world, seeking something clear and particular to hold on to – as the narrator in Tennyson’s poem “Maud” focuses on a tiny sea shell after his world has fallen in.
Or again: the way the title, The Boer War, fails to “mean” the picture is like the way those words might become a malignantly empty phrase in the woman’s mind, words she must continually reiterate to herself and to others – the Boer War, the Boer War, he was killed in the Boer War – but which call up nothing and have no purchase on her loss.
Reading things into it? Yes, exactly. That’s what this kind of picture, this word image-juxtaposition, invites you to do. Reading things in, letting scene and title interact in the mind, is the way it works. In more than one way, Byam Shaw’s painting about a remote Imperial war has a rather contemporary feeling.
THE ARTIST
John Byam Shaw (1872-1919) was the second wind and last gasp of true pre- Raphaelitism. By the end of the 19th century, the movement had moved away from the Ruskin-Millais ideals of intense observational realism and moral commitment. It had drifted towards an airy-fairy religiose symbolism. Byam Shaw recovered some of the old ground – just at the point when this kind of art was about to go completely out of fashion, even in Britain. His name is now too small to get into all but the very biggest artdictionaries. But it is preserved in the north London art school that he founded, The Byam Shaw, which exists to this day.
Source:
(Interviews with Errol Lincoln Uys,1970)Johanna, or Joey as she was later called, was born in July 1892. Her mother was killed in a train crash in 1896, and Joey and her sister went to live with an uncle and aunt in Bethulie, Orange Free State, Magiel and Lettie Roux. When the Second Anglo-Boer War broke out in October 1899, Magiel joined the Bethulie Commando.
In September 1900, as British troops rolled over the veld, Magiel and thirty commandos attempted to flee the Orange Free State for the Transvaal. Joey and her cousins, the child Magiel and Johann, were in the convoy when it was attacked and captured by the British “Tommies” near Springfontein in the Free State.
We trekked with fourteen wagons, seventy women and children, escorted by thirty Boer commandos. Three days after leaving Bethulie, the Tommies found us.
“O, God, ons is nou gevang!” – (“O, God, now we’re caught!”)
It was daylight. I hid under a wagon. Magiel and Johann lay on the wagon floor. They couldn’t understand what was happening. There was confusion. People screaming. Shouts. “Rooinek vark!” – (“Redneck pig!”)
Women were shooting and killing Tommies. Tant (aunt) Lettie was a crack-shot. She kept firing till she’d no more bullets.
Several Boers were killed. Then we ran out of ammunition. We surrendered with a white flag on a stick.
I still see the red faces of the Tommies. They wore khaki, brass buttons, and leggings. Their heavy boots thudded as they walked.
They gathered our men together and took their guns and horses.
Before they were led away, our commandant warned us to obey the Tommies or be shot.
My uncle said goodbye. We were all crying.
Magiel looked at me. “Never desert her,” he said to my aunt. “If you’ve one crust of bread, break it in half and give it to her.”
As Joey recounted the attack on the wagons to me, she sang a line of an old Boer War song: “Zij geniet die blouwe bergen op die skepe na Ceylon.” — “They enjoy the blue mountains on the ships to Ceylon.”
Magiel went as POW to Sri Lanka where five thousand Boer guerillas were interned during the war. The British shipped four times that number to other camps in India, St. Helena and Bermuda.
At the wagons, the Tommies searched the women and went through their belongings.
The soldiers weren’t cruel. They hadn’t tasted real war yet.
While they searched our stuff, my aunt sat on a trommeltjie filled with bottles of Lennon’s home remedies. The Tommy’s never looked inside the medicine chest.
Tant Lettie had hidden gold sovereigns under the bottles.
After they took our men away, they made us get back into the wagons. We trekked across the veld to a station. We stayed there all night, some lying down, others sitting up in the wagons. In the morning, they pushed us into boxcars.
I couldn’t see anything. There were vents on top and one of these slammed onto my aunt’s head. When the train moved off, the boxcar shook so much we fell against each other.
My mother’s reference to a boxcar is unusual. Most women and children were herded into fetid cattle trucks to be shunted across the Free State under a boiling sun or through frigid nights.
We realized we were going to Bloemfontein.
“You’ll get food, everything you need in the camp,” the Tommies said.
At Bloemfontein, we were placed in carts. We were taken three miles outside town and dumped down on the veld.
They put up bell-tents for us, one next to the other. Hundreds of round tents, far as the eye could see. We met one of Tant (aunt) Lettie’s sisters and stayed together for a while.
A woman in the tent next to us went into labor. Her baby was born that night. The child contracted some disease and died soon after.
We slept on the bare ground. No bedding, no pillows, only some blankets from the wagon. It rained heavily. In the beginning, we didn’t know we had to loosen the tent ropes and let the water run off. We got sopping wet. Tant Lettie and I went outside in the rain. We released the ropes and knocked in the pegs again. It was a quagmire. Exhausted, we lay down in the mud to sleep.
We lit a paraffin lamp in the tent at night. At nine o’clock, all lights had to be out. Women were kicked and beaten if they disobeyed the orders of the Tommies. We obeyed.
We were issued ration cards and stood in line for food. We got meat, sugar, mealie meal, condensed milk. The meat was chilled. Even after cooking, it had chunks of ice in it. We used a paraffin tin outside the tent for a stove, same as a ‘kaffir-koggel ,’ with holes in the sides and irons to hold pots. We collected firewood on a kopje next to the camp. Water was brought from a river by cart. Every morning we stood in line to fill our buckets. We were always short of water.
Tant Lettie, the two boys and Johanna were designated “Undesirables,” a term applied to Boers who don’t go voluntarily into captivity or had family members on commando. “Refugees” described displaced Boers who surrender, the “hands-uppers” and their dependants. The latter are rewarded with a few extra spoonfuls of sugar, condensed milk and the luxury of the occasional potato. In either case, rations are insufficient to stave off starvation and disease.
If we had grievances, we were taken in front of the camp commandant. Usually, we kept quiet. We didn’t want trouble with the Tommies.
During the day, the women visited each other. We walked around the camp. The sun burnt us black. Our shoes wore out. Our clothes were unironed and filthy. Afterwards we got blue soap to wash our things. The toilet was horrible. A big hole with plank seats and sacking around it, you climbed up on top of the planks. No newspaper, no rags.
The camp was lice-infested. I watched Tommies take their leggings off, unwinding them like strips of bandages. They used broken glass to scrape the lice from their legs. My aunt had to cut all my hair off.
There was a church but I don’t remember going to it or to a school begun in the camp. Tant Lettie read to us from the Bible.
Theft was rife. There were fights between women.
Prostitutes carried on with Tommies and Boers in the camp. Most of the men were elderly. One old man called De Wet was a bastard. He wanted to interfere with my aunt. She chased him out of the tent. Tommies also interfered with the women.
I remember a short man with a gray beard. I hated him.
My aunt became friendly with one of the Tommies. She stole someone else’s skirt and walked with him.
Thousands of newcomers arrived at Bloemfontein camp. Thousands became sick. The marquee hospital tents were always full. The doctors worked day and night.
We found pieces of blue stone vitriol in the sugar. Lots of people were poisoned.
People died like rats. Carts came down the rows of tents to pick up the dead. There were funerals every day.
In the eighteen months Johanna and her family were in Bloemfontein concentration camp, the population soared to six thousand three hundred and twenty two. Of this number, one thousand six hundred and ninety-five perished from want and sickness.
British propagandists alleged that Boer mothers were killing their children through their own stupidity and carelessness. When seven-year-old Lizzie van Zyl died of hunger at Bloemfontein, a report said her mother starved her.
Emily Hobhouse, an English activist, spent six months in South Africa from January to June 1901 visiting Bloemfontein and six other camps. She saw Lizzie van Zyl die on an airless April day.
“I used to see her in her bare tent lying on a tiny mattress which had been given her, trying to get air from the raised flap, gasping her life out in the heated tent. Her mother tended her. I got some friends in town to make a little muslin cap to keep the flies from her bare head. I was arranging to get a cart made to draw her into the air in the cooler hours but before wood could be procured, the cold nights came on and she died. I found nothing to show neglect on the mother’s part.”
Emily returned to England to campaign against “a gigantic and grievous blunder caused not by uncaring women but crass male ignorance, helplessness and muddling.” Her militancy brought the scorn of the British people who called her a rebel, a liar, an enemy of the nation, hysterical and worse.
No one hated Emily more than Lord Kitchener, whose troops burnt down 30,000 farm houses, torched a score of towns and interned 116,572 Boers, a quarter of the population.
“It is for their protection against the Kaffirs,” said the British War Secretary, oblivious to the fact thatAfricans were being armed and encouraged by the English to attack a mutual enemy. Also ignoring the fact that 115,000 “black Boers” were sent to their own concentration camps, loyal servants who saw twelve thousand of their number die.
Miss Hobhouse was banned from visiting the most terrible of all camps that had been established just outside Bethulie, a place name meaning “Chosen by God.” My mother considered it a blessing of the Almighty that they weren’t interned at Bethulie where twelve hundred died in one six-month period from pneumonia and measles and from hunger.
The concentration camps claimed the lives of 27,972 Boers. Of these, 22,074 were children like Lizzie van Zyl.
We guarded the gold sovereigns day and night. After lights out, we slept next to the box where Tant Lettie had hidden the coins.
Women could apply to the camp commandant for a pass to go into Bloemfontein. Tant Lettie went to buy extra food. This was all that kept us alive.
I think of the thousands who died in the camps. I thank God that we survived.
In summer 1902, as Kitchener’s cordon strangled Boer resistance, Tant Lettie got notice that she and the children were going to another camp.
My mother was too young at the time to know why they were moved, whether Tant Lettie’s Tommy friend pulled strings or what other reason was behind the transfer. They went from Bloemfontein to a camp at Kubusie River near Stutterheim in the Eastern Cape, nestled in the green hills of the Amatola Range, a world away from the horrors of the dumping ground at Bloemfontein.
This time, Johanna recalled making the two-hundred-and-fifty mile journey in a cattle truck. According to one report, some of the refugees were supplied with tents, which they ingeniously erected on the beds of railroad cars. Others were covered with tarpaulins like so much baggage.
“The former arrived more contented and less sullen. All were provided with hot water and cocoa en route.”
We were vaccinated on arrival at Kubusie. Our arms swelled up. Magiel and Johann became sick but after a while we were all OK.
We lived in a one-roomed house. A big room with a plank table, plank chairs and three plank beds with straw mattresses.
Our days at Kubusie were happier. Farmers in the district helped the Boers. The camp was small, nothing like Bloemfontein. I don’t recall anyone dying at Kubusie.
A Miss O’Brien taught school in the camp. I learnt English from her. After school, she invited me to her room. My dress was in rags. Miss O’Brien cut up her own clothes to make dresses for me. She taught me how to knit and gave me a ball of wool for a pair of socks.
Who was Miss O’Brien? Was she English or Irish as her name might suggest? Was she one of Emily Hobhouse’s angels of mercy? It matters not, just that she was there, sitting with a child pretty as a flower, teaching her to knit a pair of socks.
Today, the site of Kubusie Concentration Camp has been turned into a car park and the surface area graveled and curbed.
“The socks were yellow,” Johanna said a lifetime later. She never forgot Miss O’Brien’s kindness.
Update: October 2008…this poem is an Afrikaans poem about the concentration camps…very sad poem, maybe I should try and translate it sometime for English readers…
C. Louis Leipoldt (1880-1947)
In die konsentrasiekamp
Aliwal-Noord, 1901
O, pazienza, pazienza che tanto sostieni! – Dante
Jou oë is nat met die trane van gister;
Jou siel is gemartel, deur smarte gepla;
Van vrede en pret was jy vroeër ’n verkwister;
En nou, wat bly oor van jou rykdomme? Ja,
’n Spreekwoord tot steun – daar’s geen trooswoord beslister:
“Geduld, o geduld, wat so baie kan dra!”
Hier sit jy en koes teen die wind wat daar suie
Yskoud deur die tentseil, geskeur deur die hael –
Jou enigste skuil in die nag teen die buie;
Die Junie-lug stort oor die stroom van die Vaal –
Jy hoor net die hoes van jou kind, en die luie
Gedrup van die reëndruppeltjies oor die paal.
’n Kers, nog maar anderhalf duim voor hy sterwe,
Brand dof in ’n bottel hier vlak naas jou bed.
(’n Kafhuis gee makliker rus: op die gerwe
Daar lê ’n mens sag, en sy slaap is gered!) –
En hier in die nag laat jou drome jou swerwe
’n Aaklige rondte met trane besmet.
Hier struikel die kind wat te vroeg was gebore;
Hier sterwe die oumens te swak vir die stryd;
Hier kom ’n gekerm en gekreun in jou ore;
Hier tel jy met angs elke tik van die tyd;
Want elke sekond’ van die smart laat sy spore
Gedruk op jou hart, deur ’n offer gewyd.
En deur elke skeur in die seil kan jy duister
Die wolke bespeur oor die hemel verbrei;
Geen ster skyn as gids; na geen stem kan jy luister
(Eentonig die hoes van jou kind aan jou sy!)
Wat sag deur die wind in jou ore kom fluister:
“Geduld, o geduld, wat so baie kan ly!”
Vergewe? Vergeet? Is dit maklik vergewe?
Die smarte, die angs het so baie gepla!
Die yster het gloeiend ’n merk vir die eeue
Gebrand op ons volk; en dié wond is te ná –
Te ná aan ons hart, en te diep in ons lewe –
“Geduld, o geduld, wat so baie kan dra!”
–uit: Groot Verseboek, 2000
Die Oorwinnaars By die kindergrafte uit die Konsentrasiekamp van Nylstroom
Oorwinnaars vir ons volk,
bly u vir al wat beste in ons is ‘n ewig’ tolk;
nooit weer sal vyandsvoet u stof so diep vertrap en smoor
dat ons u langer nie kan sien – en hoor.
Nie onse Helde, wat die magtig’ leër
op glansryk’ velde kon weerstaan en keer;
nie onse Seuns, wat aan die galg en teen die muur
die diepe liefde vir hul eie moes verduur;
nie onse Moeders, wat met bloeiend hart en seer,
in swart Getsemane die ware smart moes leer;
nie onse Generaals, vereer met krans en riddersnoer;
– was waardig vir ons volk die hoë stryd te voer
en te oorwin.
Nie ons, met vuile hand en hart ontrou was waardig
om die vaandel hoog te hou.
Maar u, o bleke spokies, in U kermend’, klagend’ wee,
staan voor ons ewiglik beskermend – uit die lang verlee.
Eugene Marais
Boer internees were separately held from black Africans. There were a total of 45 tented camps built for Boer internees and 64 for black Africans. Of the 28,000 Boer men captured as prisoners of war, 25,630 were sent overseas. The vast majority of Boers remaining in the local camps were women and children, but the camps established for black Africans held large numbers of men as well. A number of the black African internees were used as a paid labour force as they were not considered by the British to be hostile, although they had been forcibly removed from Boer areas. The majority of the black African internees however languished in the camps and suffered a high mortality rate.—so, “apartheid” by the British during the Boer/British war!
Danie Theron: The man picked for the job was Danie Theron, who was a lawyer from Krugersdorp. Even before the outbreak of the war he had formed a bicycle corps of Scouts believing that the effectiveness of horse mounted men was being undermined because modern bicycle technology was not being utilized properly.
He made a submission to Transvaal President Paul Kruger and General Joubert requesting the formation of a bicycle corps by pointing out that a horse needs rest and food, whereas a bicycle needs only a pump and oil.
To support his belief in the superiority of the bicycle he had planned a race between a bicycle and a horse from Pretoria to the Crocodile River a distance of 75 km.
The man he picked to ride the bicycle against the horse was cycling champion JP Koos Jooste.
The Cape Argus of 21 June 1900 clearly states that the destitution of these women and children was the result of the English’s plundering of farms: “Within 10 miles we (the English) burned not less than six farm homesteads. Between 30 and 40 homesteads were burned and totally destroyed between Bloemfontein and Boshoff. Many others were also burned down. With their houses destroyed, the women and children were left in the bitter South African winter in the open.” The British history text book says nothing about this.
An old man sits in front of his house with a few saved belongings. On this next link you can order some books and I’ve found these three images on this link too. The link will open in a new window. The books are in English, but the site in Afrikaans, you can give me a big shout if you need any help with the site! If you click on the link “kontak ons”, on this site where you can order the books, – it means “contact us” – you will find an email address and contact details.
Lord Alfred Milner – Rothschild front man, executor of the “Scorched Earth Policy” and concentration camps for Boer women and children in 1899-1902; and spokesman for the Royal Institute of International Affairs, which branched into such organizations as the CFR and the Trilateral. His spirit and his legacy lives on in the present genocide of the Boers.
Apartheid is properly the legacy of Britain –- which has been under the control of the Rothschilds and his London Elite for centuries, and which refused to give independence to the Black nations currently within present-day SA, as it did to the cannibal Basuto tribe (Lesotho), and to the Swazis (Swaziland), before forming the Union of South Africa in 1910 out of the two former Boer republics of the Transvaal and the Orange Free State; and her two SA colonies viz: …read more on this link, but be warned, a very upsetting image…on this link. On the following link: Deirdre Fields – reports on the heroic Boer struggle for survival and self determination.
The Boer Republics had no organised force. In the event of war against natives or against some foreign Power, the burghers were called up from their farms, the husbands, fathers, sons of the nation, to fight for home and fatherland. This left the women and children unprotected on the farms, but not unprovided for, for it is an historical fact that the Boer women in time of war carried on their farming operations with greater vigour than during times of peace. Fruit trees were tended, fields were ploughed, and harvests brought in with redoubled energy, with the result that crops increased and live-stock multiplied.
Read on the Gutenberg-link more from the book written by Johanna Brandt.
The following update: 26/9/09 – from an Afrikaans blogger and her grandma who survived the Irene Concentration camp and she blogged today about things her grandma told her when she was little. I will translate for you in short.
Trisia says the following: Her grandad was put in jail and they were given food with worms in it. After the war he worked for a sjieling per day to reconstruct/rebuild the burnt-down farms. Her grandma told her some gruesome stories and one is where the English took her little cat, swung it on its tail and smashed it against the wall. [POOR KITTY!] Also, they took her grandma’s dolls and burnt it with all their other stuff. [I can imagine their grusame smiles on their faces while doing it] Please find “Maankind”-s link (Trisia) if you want to read the entry on her blog – of course it is in Afrikaans only.
Oupa het graag vertel hoe hy as seun saam geveg het, en van sy hoed met die koeëlgaatjie in waar hy rakelings aan die dood ontkom het. Sy baadjie se moue het te kort geword gedurende die oorlog, en ek sien steeds die prentjie van die rankerige boerseun met die baadjie met driekwart moue in my kop. Hy het ook grusame verhale vertel van sy verblyf in die tronk as rebel, en van die wurms in die sop. Dan ook hoe hulle later na die oorlog op die paaie gewerk het teen ‘n “sieling” ‘n dag om hulle plase weer te kon opbou.
Ouma se stories was meer hartseer. Sy het die oorlog as dogtertjie beleef, wat gehuil het oor haar poppie, wat die Engelsman gegryp het en in die vuur geslinger het, en hoe hulle moes staan en kyk hoe hulle huis met alles daarin, in vlamme opgaan.
Wanneer ouma se oë sonder uitsondering vol trane geraak het, en haar stem gebewe het, is elke keer as sy vertel hoe die “Ingelsman haar katjie gegryp het en aan sy agterpootjies geswaai het, en sy koppie teen die muur papgeslaan het.
South of the Line, inland from far Durban,
A mouldering soldier lies—your countryman.
Awry and doubled up are his gray bones,
And on the breeze his puzzled phantom moans
Nightly to clear Canopus: “I would know
By whom and when the All-Earth-gladdening Law
Of Peace, brought in by that Man Crucified,
Was ruled to be inept, and set aside?
And what of logic or of truth appears
In tacking ‘Anno Domini’ to the years?
Near twenty-hundred liveried thus have hied,
But tarries yet the Cause for which He died.”
Christmas-eve 1899. – Source:
Follow this link to read about the “stalemated” Boer/British War and you will find a link to the Canadian War museum. The link will open in a new window.
On my blog HEREyou can read about the Boer/British-War and Melrose House . The link will open in a new window. On this link you can also read about the role my great grandad played during the war.
A very good site about the Boer-war HERE …the link will open in a new window.
Please click HEREto read the complete online book of Arthur Conan Doyle about the Boer War…the link will open in a new window.
Ek slaap in die rus van die eeue gesus,
ongesien, ongehoord,
en dof en loom in my sonnedroom,
ongewek, ongestoord.
Tot die yl-bloue bande van die ver-verre rande
skuif my breedte uit,
wyd-kringend aan die puur al-omwelwend asuur,
wat my swyend omsluit.
Jong aarde se stoot het my boesem ontbloot
bo die diep van die meer;
en volswanger van lewe ’t oor waat’re geswewe
die gees van die Heer.
Uit die woelende nag van haar jeugdige krag
brag die aarde voort
Lewiátansgeslagte, geweldig van kragte –
storm-ontruk aan haar skoot.
Diep in my gesteente berg ek hul gebeente –
die geheim van hul lewe en lot;
maar gewek uit die sode herleef uit die dode,
na die ewig hernuwingsgebod,
die stof van die verlede in vorme van die hede,
in eindeloos kome en gaan;
wat die dood my vertrou ’t, ek bewaar dit as goud,
en geen grein sal ’k verlore laat gaan.
As die son oor my vloer in die môre kom loer
en die dou van my lippe kus,
dan kyk ek net stom met ’n glimlag om
en lê maar weer stil in my rus.
Hoog bowe die kim op sy troon geklim,
is hy heer van lewe en dood;
na wil en luim geef hy, skraal of ruim,
verderf of lewensbrood.
Uit gloeiende sfeer brand hy wreed op my neer
tot my naaktheid kraak en skroei,
en my koorsige asem in bewende wasem
al hygend my bors ontvloei.
In sy skadetjie rondom sy stam op die grond
staat ’n eensame doringboom,
soos die Stilte op haar troon, met dorings gekroon,
wat roerloos die eeue verdroom.
Geen drop vir die dors aan my stofdroë bors:
my kinders versmag en beswyk,
en die stowwe staan soos hul trek en gaan
om my skrale dis te ontwyk.
Soos ’n vlokkie skuim uit die sfere se ruim
kom ’n wolkie aangesweef,
maar hy groei in die blou tot ’n stapelbou
van marmer wat krul en leef –
kolossaal monument op sy swart fondament,
waar die bliksem in brul en leef.
En o, met my is die windjies bly:
hul spring uit die stof orent
en wals en draai in dwarrelswaai
oor my vloer, van ent tot ent;
die gras skud hul wakker om same te jakker,
tot hy opspring uit sy kooi
en soos mane en sterde van jaende perde
sy stingels golf en gooi.
Met dof-sware plof, soos koeëls in die stof,
kom die eerste druppels neer,
tot dit ruis alom so deur die gebrom
en gekraak van die donderweer.
Met kloue vooruit om te gryp en te buit
jaag ’n haelwolk langs verby,
soos ’n perde-kommande wat dreun oor die lande
vertrap en gésel hy –
en sy lyke-kleed sien ek ver en breed
in die awendson gesprei.
Stil in die duister lê ’k so en luister
hoe die spruite gesels en lag;
maar bowe die pak van my wolkedak
het die maan al lank gewag:
nou breek en skeur hy ’n baan daardeur
om te deel in my vreug benede;
hy sprei die waas van sy romig-blou gaas –
en ek lag so stil-tevrede.
Plek op plek, soos die wolke trek,
sweef die skaduwees onder mee,
soos eilande wyd oor die waat’re verspreid
op die boesem van die grote see.
Met ’n afskeidskus gaat die maan ook ter rus,
en ek wag op die daeraad –
so skoon en so mooi soos ’n fris jong nooi
wat lag in haar bruidsgewaad.
Oor die bulte se rug slaat die gloed in die lug
van brande wat ver-weg kwyn,
en doringbome fluister in rooi skemerduister
van gevare wat kom of verdwyn.
Uit slote en plas, uit die geurende gras,
styg ’n danklied op ten hemel;
en dis net of ek hoor hoe die kriekies se koor
weergalm uit die sterre-gewemel,
waar wêrelde gaan op hul stille baan
tot die ende van ruimte en tyd.
So, groots en klaar, staat Gods tempel daar,
wyd – in sy majesteit.
Jan FE Cilliers
Dis al
Dis die blond,
dis die blou:
dis die veld,
dis die lug;
en ‘n voël draai bowe in eensame vlug –
dis al
Dis n balling gekom
oor die oseaan,
dis n graf in die gras,
dis n vallende traan –
dis al
My own translation: see more of his poems translated on the “my gedigte/my poems”-page That’s All
It’s the blond
It’s the blue
It’s the veld
It’s the air
and a bird circles above in a
solitude flight
That’s it
It’s an exile that came
across the ocean
A grave in the grass
A shed teardrop
That’s all.
–Nikita–2008
Trou
Ek hou van ‘n man wat sy man kan staan,
ek hou van ‘n arm wat ‘n slag kan slaan,
‘n oog wat nie wyk, wat ‘n bars kan kyk
en ‘n wil wat so vas soos ‘n klipsteen staan!
Ek hou van ‘n man wat sy moeder eer,
in die taal uit haar vrome mond geleer,
die verraaiersgeslag in sy siel verag
wat, haar verstotend, homself kleineer.
Die oog wil ek sien wat ‘n traan nog ween
vir ‘n heldegeslag, in hul rus daarheen,
maar ‘n blits van trou in die traan van rou,
wat aan liefde weer gee wat haar bron is ontleen.
Vir my d’Afrikaner van durf en daad,
wat mammon’s eer en loon versmaad,
sy hoof en sy hand vir sy volk en sy land
en ‘n trap van sy voet vir laag verraad!
O, ‘k hou van ‘n man wat sy man kan staan;
ek hou van ‘n daad wat soos donder slaan,
‘n oog wat nie wyk, wat ‘n bars kan kyk
en ‘n wil wat so vas soos ‘n klipsteen staan!
"The Americans fight for a free world, the English mostly for honour, glory and medals, the French and Canadians decide too late that they have to participate. The Italians are too scared to fight, the Russians have no choice. The Germans for their Fatherland. The Boers? Those sons of Bitches fight for the hell of it." American General, George 'Guts and Glory' Patton.
Die ‘Mayor Oak’ boom in Sherwood Forest
Hierdie gedig het ek geskryf as my bydrae tot Afrikaans en om 14 Augustus, Afrikaans-dag te ‘vier’. Elke jaar probeer ek om my bydrae te maak rondom hierdie datum. Ons het so bietjie in Sherwood Forest gaan rondstap om veral die baie bekende boom waar Robin Hood en sy ‘manne’ vergader het. Die Major Oak – het ongelukkig gedurende die ‘lockdown’ bietjie deurgeloop deurdat vandaliste dele van die boom probeer vernietig het. Die boom is nou afgesper en word dit al vir baie jare gestut om die boom te beskerm – soos jy in die foto kan sien.Dit was eers in die jare ’50 toe mense besef het dat die boom bewaar moet word en is enige persoon verbied om in die boom te klim en klouter – soos dit gereeld die gewoonte was. As jy die kans kry en jy is in die omgewing van Nottingham, maak gerus ‘n draai by die woud. Dan is daar ook die Robin Hood Kasteel in Nottingham wat jy kan besoek en dit is baie beslis die moeite werd – maak net seker jy besoek die grotte ook. Sien die foto.
You can go on a cave tour when visiting the Robin Hood Castle in Nottingham.
English Readers: This is a poem I’ve written after my visit to Sherwood Forest. 14th August is also Afrikaans Language Day. This is my contribution to the Afrikaans Language, the most beautiful language in the world.
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Chessalee 
